THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Joseph  P.  Loeb 


Boating  Camp  edition 


THE  WRITINGS  OF 
BRET  HARTE 

WITH  INTRODUCTIONS,  GLOSSARY,  AND 
INDEXES 

ILLUSTRATED 
VOLUME  II 


MR.  HARTE  IN  1872 


TALES  OF  THE  ARGONAUTS 


BY 

BRET   HARTE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

(Cbe  tttoewibc  press  Cam  b  riffle 


COPYRIGHT,    1872   AND    1875,   BY  JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   *    CO. 
COPYRIGHT,    1878  AND    1879,    BY   HOUGHTON,   OSGOOD   &   CO. 

COPYRIGHT,    1882,    1896,    1903,    1906,   AND    1907,   BY   HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   *   CO 
COPYRIGHT,    1900,    BY    BRET   HARTE 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


FOt 


CONTENTS 

PASS 

INTRODUCTION         ...........  ix 

THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAR      ........  1 

MK.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL        ........  14 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW  ......  24 

THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT        ........  38 

THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HEK  FRIENDS         .....  51 

I!o\v  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR         ....  60 

MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS       ........  84 

AN  EPISODE  OF  FIDDLETOWN     ........  121 

A  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OK  MR.  JOHN  OAKHURST    ...  171 

THE  ROSE  OF  TUOLUMNE     .........  197 

A  MONTE  FLAT   PASTORAL  :   How  OLD   MAN  PLUNKETT  WEST 

HOME        ...        .........  224 

BABY  SYLVESTER  ........        ...  244 

WAN  LEE,  THE  PAGAN     .                        ......  262 

AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG   .                .......  280 

THE  MAN  ON  THE  BEACH         ........  298 

ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND     .........  335 

"JINNY"      ............  351 

Two  SAINTS  OF  THE  FOOT-HILLS      .......  361 

"Wno  WAS  MY  QUIET  FRIEND"     .......  375 

"  A  TOURIST  FROM  INJIANNY  "  ........  385 

THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS       ........  397 

THE  MAN  FROM  SOLANO      .........  423 

i  GHOST  OF  THE  SIERRAS       ........  432 


554765 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

MM 

BRET  HARTE,  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  TAKEN 

IN  1872.     Frontispiece. 

VIGNETTE  ON  ENGRAVED  TITLE-PAGE  .    .  Charles  H.  Woodbury  . 

THE  TWO  OPPONENTS  CAME  NEARER     .    .  Frederic  Remington     .      4 

TELL  HIM  'SANDY  CLAUS  HAS  COME  .    .    .  E.  Boyd  Smith     ...    82 

Is  IT  MAMMA  ? Guy  Rose 128 

A  WOMAN'S  FACE  WAS  ALWAYS  BEFORE 

HIM Guy  Rose 300 

THE  GENTLE   LADY  AND  HER  FOUR-FOOTED 

FRIEND B.  West  Clinedinst  .    .  358 

HE    LOOKED    AV    HER  WITH     FIXED,    DUMB 

EYES B.  West  Clinedinst  .    .  422 


INTRODUCTION ' 

As  so  much  of  my  writing  has  dealt  with  the  Argonauts 
of  '49,  I  propose,  by  way  of  introduction,  to  discourse  briefly 
on  an  episode  of  American  life  as  quaint  and  typical  as 
that  of  the  Greek  adventurers  whose  name  I  have  bor- 
rowed. It  is  a  crusade  without  a  cross,  an  exodus  with- 
out a  prophet.  It  is  not  a  pretty  story ;  I  do  not  know 
that  it  is  even  instructive.  It  is  of  a  life  of  which,  per- 
haps, the  best  that  can  be  said  is  that  it  exists  no  longer. 

Let  me  first  give  an  idea  of  the  country  which  these 
people  re-created,  and  the  civilization  they  displaced. 
For  more  than  three  hundred  years  California  was  of  all 
Christian  countries  the  least  known.  The  glow  and  gla- 
mour of  Spanish  tradition  and  discovery  hung  about  it. 
There  was  an  English  map  in  which  it  was  set  down  as  an 
island.  There  was  the  Rio  de  Los  Reyes  —  a  kind  of 
gorgeous  Mississippi  —  leading  directly  to  the  heart  of  the 
Continent,  which  De  Fonte  claimed  to  have  discovered. 
There  was  the  Anian  passage  —  a  prophetic  forecast  of  the 
Pacific  Railroad  —  through  which  Maldonado  declared  that 
he  sailed  to  the  North  Atlantic.  Another  Spanish  discov- 
erer brought  his  mendacious  personality  directly  from  the 
Pacific,  by  way  of  Columbia  River,  to  Lake  Ontario;  on 
which,  I  am  rejoiced  to  say,  he  found  a  Yankee  vessel  from 
Boston,  whose  captain  informed  him  that  he  had  come  up 
from  the  Atlantic  only  a  few  days  before  him!  Along  the 
long  line  of  iron-bound  coast  the  old  freebooters  chased  the 

1  This  Introduction,  in  its  original  use,  was  a  lecture  to  English  and 
American  audiences. 


X  INTRODUCTION 

timid  Philippine  galleons,  and  in  its  largest  bay,  beside 
the  present  gateway  of  the  West,  —  San  Francisco,  —  Sir 
Francis  Drake  lay  for  two  weeks  and  scraped  the  barnacles 
from  his  adventurous  keels.  It  is  only  within  the  past 
twenty-five  years,  that  a  company  of  gold-diggers,  turning 
up  the  ocean  sands  near  Port  Umpqua,  came  upon  some 
large  cakes  of  wax  deeply  imbedded  in  the  broken  and  fire- 
scarred  ribs  of  a  wreck  of  ancient  date.  The  Calif ornian 
heart  was  at  once  fired  at  the  discovery,  and  in  a  few 
weeks  a  hundred  men  or  more  were  digging,  burrowing, 
and  scraping  for  the  lost  treasure  of  the  Philippine  gal- 
leon. At  last  they  found  —  what  think  you  ?  —  a  few 
cutlasses  with  an  English  stamp  upon  their  blades.  The 
enterprising  and  gallant  —  and  slightly  piratical  —  Sir 
Francis  Drake  had  been  there  before  them ! 

Yet  they  were  peaceful,  pastoral  days  for  California. 
Through  the  great  central  valley  the  Sacramento  poured 
an  unstained  current  into  a  majestic  bay,  ruffled  by  no 
keels  and  fretted  by  no  wharves.  The  Angelus  bell  rung 
at  San  Bernardino,  and,  taken  up  by  every  Mission  tower 
along  the  darkening  coast,  called  the  good  people  to  prayer 
and  sleep  before  nine  o'clock  every  night.  Leagues  of 
wild  oats,  progenitors  of  those  great  wheat  fields  that  now 
drug  the  markets,  hung  their  idle  heads  on  the  hillsides; 
vast  herds  of  untamed  cattle,  whose  hides  and  horns  alone 
made  the  scant  commerce  of  those  days,  wandered  over  the 
illimitable  plains,  knowing  no  human  figure  but  that  of 
the  yearly  riding  vaquero  on  his  unbroken  mustang,  which 
they  regarded  as  the  early  aborigines  did  the  Spanish 
cavalry,  as  one  individual  creation.  Around  the  white 
walls  of  the  Mission  buildings  were  clustered  the  huts  of 
the  Indian  neophytes,  who  dressed  neatly,  but  not  expen- 
sively, in  mud.  Presidios  garrisoned  by  a  dozen  raw 
militiamen  kept  the  secular  order,  and  in  the  scattered 
pueblos  rustic  alcaldes  dispensed,  like  Sancho  Panza,  pro- 


INTRODUCTION  X? 

•rerbial  wisdom  and  practical  equity  to  the  bucolic  litigants. 
In  looking  over  some  Spanish  law  papers,  one  day,  I  came 
upon  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  sagacity  of  Alcalde 
Felipe  Gomez  of  Santa  Barbara.  An  injured  wife  accused 
her  husband  of  serenading  the  wife  of  another.  The  faith- 
less husband  and  his  too  seductive  guitar  were  both  produced 
in  court.  "Play,"  said  the  alcalde  to  the  gay  Lothario. 
The  unfortunate  man  was  obliged  to  repeat  his  amorous  per- 
formance of  the  preceding  night.  "I  find  nothing  here," 
said  the  excellent  alcalde  after  a  moment's  pause,  "but 
an  infamous  voice  and  an  execrable  style.  I  dismiss  the 
complaint  of  the  Senora,  but  I  shall  hold  the  Sen  or  on  the 
charge  of  vilely  disturbing  the  peace  of  Santa  Barbara." 

They  were  happy,  tranquil  days.  The  proprietors  of 
the  old  ranches  ruled  in  a  patriarchal  style,  and  lived  to 
a  patriarchal  age.  On  a  soil  half  tropical  in  its  character, 
in  a  climate  wholly  original  in  its  practical  conditions,  a 
soft-handed  Latin  race  slept  and  smoked  the  half  year's 
sunshine  away,  and  believed  that  they  had  discovered  a 
new  Spain !  They  awoke  from  their  dream  only  to  find 
themselves  strangers  on  their  own  soil,  foreigners  in  their 
own  country,  ignorant  even  of  the  treasure  they  had  been 
sent  to  guard.  A  political  and  social  earthquake,  more 
powerful  than  any  physical  convulsions  they  had  ever 
known,  shook  the  foundation  of  the  land,  and  in  the  dis- 
rupted strata  and  rent  fissures  the  treasure  suddenly  glit- 
tered before  their  eyes. 

Though  the  change  came  upon  them  suddenly,  it  had 
been  prefigured  by  a  chain  of  circumstances  whose  logical 
links  future  historians  will  not  overlook.  It  was  not  the 
finding  of  a  few  grains  of  gold  by  a  day  laborer' at  Sutter's 
Mill,  but  that  for  years  before  the  way  had  been  slowly 
opened  and  the  doors  unlocked  to  the  people  who  were  to 
profit  by  this  discovery.  The  real  pioneers  of  the  lawless, 
irreligious  band  whose  story  I  am  repeating  were  the  oldest 


xjj  INTRODUCTION 

and  youngest  religions  known.  Do  Americans  ever  think 
that  they  owe  their  right  to  California  to  the  Catholic 
Church  and  the  Mormon  brotherhood?  Yet  Father  Juni- 
pero,  Serra  ringing  his  bell  in  the  heathen  wilderness  of 
Upper  California,  and  Brigham  Young  leading  his  half 
famished  legions  from  Nauvoo  to  Salt  Lake,  were  the  two 
great  commanders  of  the  Argonauts  of  '49.  All  that 
western  emigration  which,  prior  to  the  gold  discovery, 
penetrated  the  Oregon  and  California  vallej'S  and  half 
Americanized  the  Coast,  would  have  perished  by  the  way, 
but  for  the  providentially  created  oasis  of  Salt  Lake  City. 
The  halting  trains  of  alkali-poisoned  oxen,  the  footsore 
and  despairing  teamsters,  gathered  rest  and  succor  from  the 
Mormon  settlement.  The  British  frigate  that  sailed  into 
the  port  of  Monterey  a  day  or  two  late,  saw  the  American 
flag  that  had,  under  this  providence,  crossed  the  continent, 
flying  from  the  Cross  of  the  Cathedral!  A  day  sooner, 
and  this  story  might  have  been  an  English  record. 

Were  our  friends,  the  Argonauts,  at  all  affected  by  these 
coincidences?  I  think  not.  They  had  that  lordly  con- 
tempt for  a  southern,  soft-tongued  race  which  belonged  to 
their  Anglo-Saxon  lineage.  They  were  given  to  no  super- 
stitious romance,  exalted  by  no  special  mission,  stimulated 
by  no  high  ambition ;  they  were  skeptical  of  even  the  exist- 
ence of  the  golden  fleece  until  they  saw  it.  Equal  to  their 
fate,  they  accepted  with  a  kind  of  heathen  philosophy 
whatever  it  might  bring.  "If  there  isn't  any  gold,  what 
are  you  going  to  do  with  these  sluice-boxes  ?  "  said  a 
newly  arrived  emigrant  to  his  friend.  "  They  will  make 
first-class  coffins,"  answered  the  friend,  with  the  simple 
directness  of  a  man  who  has  calculated  all  his  chances.  If 
they  did  not  burn  their  vessels  behind  them,  like  Pizarro, 
they  at  least  left  the  good  ship  Argo  dismantled  and  rot- 
ting at  their  Colchian  wharf.  Sailors  were  shipped  only 
for  the  outward  voyage ;  nobody  expected  to  return,  even 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

those  who  anticipated  failure.  Fertile  in  expedients,  they 
twisted  their  failures  into  a  certain  sort  of  success.  Until 
recently,  there  stood  in  San  Francisco  a  house  of  the  early 
days  whose  foundations  were  built  entirely  of  plug  tobacco 
in  boxes.  The  consignee  had  found  a  glut  in  the  tobacco 
market,  but  lumber  for  foundations  was  at  a  tremendous 
premium!  An  Argonaut  just  arriving  was  amazed  at  rec- 
ognizing in  the  boatman  who  pulled  him  ashore,  and  who 
charged  him  the  modest  sum  of  fifty  dollars  for  the  per- 
formance, a  brother  classmate  of  Cambridge.  "  Were  you 
not,"  he  asked  eagerly,  "  senior  wrangler  in  '43?"  "  Yes," 
s;iid  the  other  significantly,  "  but  1  also  pulled  stroke  oar 
against  Oxford."  if  the  special  training  of  years  sometimes 
failed  to  procure  pecuniary  recognition,  an  idle  accomplish- 
ment, sometimes  even  a  physical  peculiarity,  succeeded. 
At  my  first  breakfast  in  a  restaurant  on  Long  AVharf,  I 
was  haunted  during  the  meal  by  a  shadowy  resemblance 
which  the  waiter  who  took  my  order  bore  to  a  gentleman 
to  whom  in  my  boyhood  I  had  looked  up  as  a  mirror  of 
elegance,  urbanity,  and  social  accomplishment.  Fearful 
lest  I  should  insult  the  waiter  —  who  carried  a.  revolver  — 
by  this  reminiscence,  I  said  nothing  to  him;  but  a  later 
inquiry  of  the  proprietor  proved  that  my  suspicions  were 
correct.  "He's  mighty  handy,"  said  the  man,  "and  kin 
talk  elegant  to  a  customer  as  is  waiting  for  his  cakes,  and 
make  him  kinder  forget  he  ain't  sarved."  With  an  earnest 
desire  to  restore  my  old  friend  to  his  former  position,  I 
asked  if  it  would  not  be  possible  to  fill  his  place.  "I  'm 
afraid  not,"  said  the  proprietor  with  a  sudden  suspicion, 
and  he  added  significantly,  "I  don't  think  you'd  suit." 
It  was  this  wonderful  adaptability,  perhaps  influenced  by  a 
climate  that  produced  fruit  out  of  season,  that  helped  the 
Argonauts  to  success,  or  mitigated  their  defeats.  A  now 
distinguished  lawyer,  remarkable  for  his  Herculean  build, 
found  himself  on  landing  without  a  cent  —  rather  let  me 


iiv  INTRODUCTION 

«ay  without  twenty  dollars  —  to  pay  the  porterage  of  hi& 
trunk  to  the  hotel.  Shouldering  it,  he  was  staggering  from 
the  landing,  when  a  stranger  stepped  towards  him,  remark- 
ing he  had  not  "half  a  load,"  quietly  added  his  own  valise 
to  the  lawyer's  burden,  and  handing  him  ten  dollars  and 
his  address,  departed  before  the  legal  gentleman  could  re- 
cover from  his  astonishment.  The  valise,  however,  was 
punctually  delivered,  and  the  lawyer  often  congratulated 
himself  on  the  comparative  ease  with  which  he  won  his 
farst  fee. 

Much  of  the  easy  adaptability  was  due  to  the  character 
of  the  people.  What  that  character  was,  perhaps  it  would 
not  be  well  to  say.  At  least  I  should  prefer  to  defer  criti- 
cism until  I  could  add  to  the  calmness  the  safe  distance  of 
the  historian.  You  will  find  some  of  their  peculiarities 
described  in  the  frank  autobiographies  of  those  two  gentle- 
men who  executed  a  little  commission  for  Macbeth  in 
which  Banquo  was  concerned.  In  distant  parts  of  the 
continent  they  had  left  families,  creditors,  arid  in  some 
instances  even  officers  of  justice,  perplexed  and  lamenting. 
There  were  husbands  who  had  deserted  their  own  wives, 
—  and  in  some  extreme  cases  even  the  wives  of  others,  — 
for  this  haven  of  refuge.  Nor  was  it  possible  to  tell  from 
their  superficial  exterior,  or  even  their  daily  walk  and 
action,  whether  they  were  or  were  not  named  in  the  counts 
of  this  general  indictment.  Some  of  the  best  men  had  the 
worst  antecedents,  some  of  the  worst  rejoiced  in  a  spotless 
puritan  pedigree.  "The  boys  seem  to  have  taken  a  fresh 
deal  all  round,"  said  Mr.  John  Oakhurst  one  day  to  me, 
with  the  easy  confidence  of  a  man  who  was  conscious  of 
his  ability  to  win  my  money,  "and  there  is  no  knowing 
whether  a  man  will  turn  up  knave  or  king."  It  is  rele- 
vant to  this  anecdote  that  Mr.  John  Oakhurst  himself 
came  of  a  family  whose  ancestors  regarded  games  of  chance 
as  sinful,  because  they  were  trifling  and  amusing,  but  who 


INTRODUCTION  XV 

had  never  conceived  they  might  be  made  the  instruments 
of  successful  speculation  and  even  tragic  earnestness.  "To 
think,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst,  as  he  rose  from  a  ten  minutes' 
sitting  with  a  gain  of  five  thousand  dollars,  — "to  think 
there  's  folks  as  believes  that  keerds  is  a  waste  of  time." 

Such  were  the  character  and  the  antecedents  of  the  men 
who  gave  the  dominant  and  picturesque  coloring  to  the 
life  of  that  period.  Doubtless  the  papers  of  the  ancient 
Argo  showed  a  cleaner  bill  of  moral  health,  but  doubtless 
no  type  of  adventure  more  distinct  or  original.  I  would 
not  have  it  inferred  that  there  was  not  a  class,  respectable 
in  numbers  as  in  morals,  among  and  yet  distinct  from 
these.  But  they  have  no  place  here  save  as  a  background 
to  the  salient  outlines  and  deeply  etched  figures  of  the 
Argonauts.  Character  ruled,  and  the  strongest  was  not 
always  the  best.  Let  me  bring  them  a  little  nearer.  Let 
me  sketch  two  pictures  of  them :  one  in  their  gathered  con- 
course in  their  city  by  the  sea,  one  in  their  lonely  scattered 
cabins  in  the  camps  of  the  Sierras. 

It  is  the  memorable  winter  of  '52,  a  typical  Californian 
winter  —  unlike  anything  known  to  most  of  my  readers ; 
a  winter  from  whose  snowy  nest  in  the  Sierras  the  flutter- 
ing, new-fledged  Spring  freed  itself  without  a  struggle. 
It  is  a  season  of  falling  rains  and  springing  grasses,  of  long 
nights  of  shower,  and  days  of  cloud  and  sunshine.  There 
are  hours  when  the  quickening  earth  seems  to  throb  be- 
neath one's  feet,  and  the  blue  eyes  of  heaven  to  twinkle 
through  its  misty  lashes.  High  up  in  the  Sierras,  unsunned 
depths  of  snow  form  the  vast  reservoirs  that  later  will  flood 
the  plains,  causing  the  homesick  wanderers  on  the  low- 
lands to  look  with  awe  upon  a  broad  expanse  of  overflow, 
a  lake  that  might  have  buried  the  State  of  Massachusetts 
in  its  yellow  depths.  The  hillsides  are  gay  with  flowers, 
and,  as  in  the  old  fairy  story,  every  utterance  of  the  kindly 
Spring  falls  from  her  lips  to  the  ground  in  rubies  and 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

emeralds.  And  yet  it  is  called  " a  hard  season,"  and  flour  Is 
fifty  dollars  a  barrel.  In  San  Francisco  it  has  been  raining 
steadily  for  two  weeks.  The  streets  are  almost  impas- 
sable with  mud,  and  over  some  of  the  more  dangerous 
depths  planks  are  thrown.  There  are  few  street  lamps, 
but  the  shops  are  still  lighted,  and  the  streets  are  full  of 
long- bearded,  long- booted  men,  eager  for  some  new  ex- 
citement, their  only  idea  of  recreation  from  the  feverish 
struggle  of  the  day.  Perhaps  it  is  a  passing  carriage  — 
a  phenomenal  carriage,  one  of  the  half  dozen  known  in 
the  city  —  that  becoming  helplessly  mired  is  instantly  sur- 
rounded by  a  score  of  willing  hands  whose  owners  are  only 
too  happy  to  be  rewarded  by  a  glimpse  of  a  female  face 
through  the  window,  even  though  that  face  be  haggard, 
painted,  or  gratuitously  plain.  Perhaps  it  is  in  the  little 
theatre,  where  the  cry  of  a  baby  in  the  audience  brings 
down  a  tumultuous  encore  from  the  whole  house.  Per- 
haps it  is  in  the  gilded  drinking  saloon,  into  which  some 
one  rushes  with  arms  extended  at  right  angles,  and  con- 
veys in  that  one  pantomimic  action  the  signal  of  the  sema- 
phore telegraph  on  Telegraph  Hill  that  a  sidewheel  steamer 
has  arrived,  and  that  there  are  "letters  from  home." 
Perhaps  it  is  the  long  queue  that  afterwards  winds  and 
stretches  from  the  Post  Office  half  a  mile  away.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  eager  men  who,  following  it  rapidly  down,  bid 
fifty,  a  hundred,  two  hundred,  three  hundred,  and  five 
hundred  dollars  for  favored  places  in  the  line.  PP?- 
haps  it  is  the  haggard  man  who  nervously  tears  open  iris 
letter  and  after  a  moment's  breathless  pause  faints  and  falls 
senseless  beside  his  comrades.  Or  perhaps  it  is  a  row 
and  a  shot  in  the  streets,  but  in  '52  this  was  hardly  an 
excitement. 

The  gambling-saloon  is  always  the  central  point  of  inter- 
est. There  are  four  of  them,  —  the  largest  public  buildings 
in  the  city,  —  thronged  and  crowded  all  night.  They  are 


INTRODUCTION  XV  ii 

approached  by  no  mysterious  passage  or  guarded  entrance, 
I  Ait  are  frankly  open  to  the  street,  with  the  further  invita- 
tion of  gilding,  lights,  warmth,  and  music.  Strange  to 
say,  there  is  a  quaint  decorum  about  them.  They  are 
the  quietest  halls  in  San  Francisco.  There  is  no  drunken- 
ness, no  quarreling,  scarcely  any  exultation  or  disappoint- 
ment. Men  who  have  already  staked  their  health  and 
fortune  in  this  emigration  are  but  little  affected  by  the 
lesser  stake  on  red  or  black,  or  the  turn  of  a  card.  Busi 
ness  men  who  have  gambled  all  day  in  their  legitimate 
enterprise  find  nothing  to  excite  them  unduly  here.  In 
the  intervals  of  music,  a  thoughtful  calm  pervades  the  vast 
assembly  ;  people  move  around  noiselessly  from  table  to 
table,  as  if  Fortune  were  nervous  as  well  as  fickle;  a  cane 
falling  upon  the  floor  causes  every  one  to  look  up,  a  loud 
laugh  or  exclamation  excites  a  stare  of  virtuous  indigna- 
tion. The  most  respectable  citizens,  though  they  might 
not  play,  are  to  be  seen  here  of  an  evening.  Old  friends, 
who  perhaps  parted  at  the  church  door  in  the  States,  meet 
here  without  fear  and  without  reproach.  Even  among 
the  players  are  represented  all  classes  and  conditions  of 
men.  One  night  at  a  faro  table  a  player  suddenly  slipped 
from  his  seat  to  the  floor,  a  dead  man.  Three  doctors, 
also  players,  after  a  brief  examination,  pronounced  it  dis- 
ease of  the  heart.  The  coroner,  sitting  at  the  right  of  the 
dealer,  instantly  impaneled  the  rest  of  the  players,  who, 
laying  down  their  cards,  briefly  gave  a  verdict  in  accordance 
with  the  facts,  and  w«nt  on  with  their  game! 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that,  under  this  surface  calm, 
there  was  not  often  the  intensest  feeling.  There  was  a 
Western  man,  who,  having  made  a  few  thousands  in  the 
mines,  came  to  San  Francisco  to  take  the  Eastern  steamer 
home.  The  night  before  he  was  to  sail,  he  entered  the 
Arcade  saloon,  and  seating  himself  at  a  table  in  sheer  list- 
lessness,  staked  a  twenty -dollar  gold  piece  on  the  game. 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

He  won.  He  won  again  without  removing  his  stake.  It 
was,  in  short,  that  old  story  told  so  often  —  how  in  two 
hours  he  won  a  fortune,  how  an  hour  later  he  rose  from 
the  table  a  ruined  man.  Well  —  the  steamer  sailed  with- 
out him.  He  was  a  simple  man,  knowing  little  of  the 
world,  and  his  sudden  fortune  and  equally  sudden  reverse 
almost  crazed  him.  He  dared  not  write  to  the  wife  who 
awaited  him ;  he  had  not  pluck  enough  to  return  to  the 
mines  and  build  his  fortune  up  anew.  A  fatal  fascination 
held  him  to  the  spot.  He  took  some  humble  occupation 
in  the  city,  and  regularly  lost  his  scant  earnings  where  his 
wealth  had  gone  before.  His  ragged  figure  and  haggard 
face  appeared  as  regularly  as  the  dealer  at  the  table.  So, 
a  year  passed.  But  if  he  had  forgotten  the  waiting  wife, 
she  had  not  forgotten  him.  With  infinite  toil  she  at  last 
procured  a  passage  to  San  Francisco,  and  was  landed  with 
her  child  penniless  upon  its  wharf.  In  her  sore  extremity 
she  told  her  story  to  a  passing  stranger  —  the  last  man, 
perhaps,  to  have  met  —  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  a  gambler ! 
He  took  her  to  a  hotel,  and  quietly  provided  for  her  im- 
mediate wants.  Two  or  three  evenings  after  this,  the 
Western  man,  still  playing  at  the  same  table,  won  some 
trifling  stake  three  times  in  succession,  as  if  Forttine  were 
about  to  revisit  him.  At  this  moment,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "I  will  give  you,"  he  said, 
quietly,  "three  thousand  dollars  for  your  next  play."  The 
man  hesitated.  "Your  wife  is  at  the  door,"  continued 
Mr. 'Oak hurst  sotto  voce.  "Will  you  take  it?  Quick!" 
The  man  accepted.  But  the  spirit  of  the  gambler  was 
strong  within  him,  and  as  Mr.  Oakhurst  perhaps  fully 
expected,  he  waited  to  see  the  result  of  the  play.  Mr. 
Oakhurst  lost !  With  a  look  of  gratitude  the  man  turned 
to  Oakhurst  and  seizing  the  three  thousand  dollars  hurried 
a  ,va\ ,  as  if  fearful  he  might  change  his  mind.  "  That  was 
a  bad  spurt  of  yours,  Jack,"  said  a  friend  innocently,  not 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

observing  the  smile  that  had  passed  between  the  dealer  and 
Jack.  "Yes,"  said  Jack  coolly,  "but  I  got  tired  of  seein' 
that  chap  around."  "But,"  said  his  friend  in  alarm, 
"you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you"  —  and  he  hesitated. 
:<I  mean  to  say,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Jack,  "that  this  yer 
little  deal  was  a  put-up  job  betwixt  the  dealer  and  me. 
It 's  the  first  time,"  he  added  seriously,  with  an  oath  which 
I  think  the  recording  angel  instantly  passed  to  Jack's 
credit,  "it's  the  first  time  as  I  ever  played  a  game  that 
wasn't  on  the  square." 

The  social  life  of  that  day  was  peculiar.  Gentlemen 
made  New  Year's  calls  in  long  boots  and  red  flannel  shirts. 
In  later  days  the  wife  of  an  old  pioneer  used  to  show  a 
chair  with  a  hole  through  its  cushion  made  by  a  gentleman 
caller  who,  sitting  down  suddenly  in  bashful  confusion,  had 
exploded  his  revolver.  The  best-dressed  men  were  gam- 
blers; the  best-dressed  ladies  had  no  right  to  that  title. 
At  balls  and  parties  dancing  was  tabooed,  owing  to  the 
unhappy  complications  which  arose  from  the  disproportion- 
ate number  of  partners  to  the  few  ladies  that  were  present. 
The  ingenious  device  of  going  through  a  quadrille  with 
a  different  partner  for  each  figure  sprang  from  the  fertile 
brain  of  a  sorely  beset  San  Francisco  belle.  The  wife  of 
nn  army  officer  told  me  that  she  never  thought  of  return- 
ing home  with  the  same  escort,  and  not  infrequently  was 
accompanied  with  what  she  called  a  "full  platoon."  "I 
never  knew  before,"  she  said,  "what  they  meant  by  'the 
pleasure  of  your  compan//.'  "  In  the  multiplicity  of  such 
attentions  surely  there  was  safety. 

Such  was  the  urban  life  of  the  Argonauts  —  its  salient 
peculiarities  softened  and  subdued  by  the  constant  accession 
of  strangers  from  the  East  and  the  departure  of  its  own 
citizens  for  the  interior.  As  each  sxicceeding  ocean  steamer 
brought  fresh  faces  from  the  East,  a  corresponding  change 
took  place  in  the  type  and  in  the  manners  and  morals. 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

When  fine  clothes  appeared  upon  the  streets  and  men 
swore  less  frequently,  people  began  to  put  locks  on  their 
doors  and  portable  property  was  no  longer  out  at  night. 
As  fine  houses  were  built,  real  estate  rose,  and  the  dwellers 
in  the  old  tents  were  pushed  from  the  contiguity  of  their 
richer  brothers.  San  Francisco  saw  herself  naked,  and 
was  'ashamed.  The  old  Argonautic  brotherhood,  with  its 
fierce  sincerity,  its  terrible  directness,  its  pathetic  simpli- 
city, was  broken  up.  Some  of  the  members  were  content  to 
remain  in  a  Circean  palace  of  material  and  sensuous  delight, 
but  the  type  was  transferred  to  the  mountains,  and  thither 
I  propose  to  lead  you. 

It  is  a  country  unlike  any  other.  Nature  here  is  as 
rude,  as  inchoate,  as  unfinished,  as  the  life.  The  people 
seem  to  have  come  here  a  thousand  years  too  soon,  and 
before  the  great  hostess  was  ready  to  receive  them.  The 
forests,  vast,  silent,  damp  with  their  undergrowth  of  gigan- 
tic ferns,  recall  a  remote  carboniferous  epoch.  The  trees 
are  monstrous,  sombre,  and  monotonously  alike.  Every- 
thing is  new,  crude,  and  strange.  The  grass  blades  are 
enormous  and  far  apart,  there  is  no  carpet  to  the  soil ;  even 
the  few  Alpine  flowers  are  odorless  and  bizarre.  There  is 
nothing  soft,  tendes,  or  pastoral  in  the  landscape.  Nature 
affects  the  heroics  rather  than  the  bucolics.  Theocritus 
himself  could  scarcely  have  given  melody  to  the  utterance 
of  these  ^Etnean  herdsmen,  with  their  brierwood  pipes,  and 
their  revolvers  slung  at  their  backs.  There  are  vast 
spaces  of  rock  and  cliff,  long  intervals  of  ravine  and  canon, 
and  sudden  and  awful  lapses  of  precipice.  The  lights  and 
shadows  are  Kembrandtish,  and  against  this  background 
the  faintest  outline  of  a  human  figure  stands  out  starkly. 

They  lived  at  first  in  tents,  and  then  in  cabins.  The 
climate  was  gracious,  and  except  for  the  rudest  purposes  of 
shelter  from  the  winter  rains,  they  could  have  slept  out  of 
doors  the  year  round,  as  many  preferred  to  do.  As  they 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

grew  more  ambitious,  perhaps  a  small  plot  of  ground  was 
inclosed  and  cultivated ;  but  for  the  first  few  years  they 
looked  upon  themselves  as  tenants  at  will,  and  were  afraid 
of  putting  down  anything  they  could  not  take  away. 
Chimneys  to  their  cabins  were  for  a  long  time  avoided  as 
having  this  objectionable  feature.  Even  at  this  day,  de- 
serted mining-camps  are  marked  by  the  solitar}'  adobe 
chimneys  still  left  standing  where  the  frame  of  the  original 
cabin  was  moved  to  some  newer  location.  Their  house- 
keeping was  of  the  rudest  kind.  For  many  months  the 
frying-pan  formed  their  only  available  cooking-utensil.  It 
was  lashed  to  the  wandering  miner's  back,  like  the  trouba- 
dour's guitar.  He  fried  his  bread,  his  beans,  his  bacon, 
-md  occasionally  stewed  his  coffee,  in  this  single  vessel. 
3ut  that  ^Nature  worked  for  him  with  a  balsamic  air  and 
breezy  tonics,  he  would  have  succumbed.  Happily  his 
meals  were  few  arid  infrequent;  happily  the  inventions  of 
his  mother  East  were  equal  to  his  needs.  His  progressive 
track  through  these  mountain  solitudes  was  marked  with 
tin  cans  bearing  the  inscriptions:  "Cove  Oysters,"  "Shaker 
Sweet  Corn,"  "Yeast  Powder,"  "Boston  Crackers,"  and 
the  like.  But  in  the  hour  of  adversity  and  the  moment  of 
perplexity,  his  main  reliance  was  beans!  It  was  the  sole 
legacy  of  the  Spanish  California.  The  conqueror  and  the 
conquered  fraternized  over  their  frijoles. 

The  Argonaut's  dress  was  peculiar.  He  was  ready  if 
not  skillful  with  his  needle,  and  was  fond  of  patching  his 
clothes  until  the  original  material  disappeared  beneath  a 
cloud  of  amendments.  The  flour-sack  was  his  main  depen- 
dence. When  its  contents  had  sustained  and  comforted 
the  inner  man,  the  husk  clothed  the  outer  one.  Two 
gentlemen  of  respectability  in  earlier  days  lost  their  iden- 
tity in  the  labels  somewhat  conspicuously  borne  on  the 
seats  of  their  trousers,  and  were  known  to  the  camp  in  all 
seriousness  as  "Genesee  Mills"  and  "Eagle  Brand."  IB 


xx  ii  INTRODUCTION 

the  Southern  mines  a  quantity  of  seamen's  clothing,  con- 
demned by  the  Navy  Department  and  sold  at  auction,  was 
bought  up,  and  for  a  year  afterwards  the  sombre  woodland 
shades  of  Stanislaus  and  Merced  were  lightened  by  the 
white  ducks  and  blue  and  white  shirts  of  sailor  lands- 
men. It  was  odd  that  the  only  picturesque  bit  of  color 
in  their  dress  was  accidental,  and  owing  to  a  careless,  lazy 
custom.  Their  handkerchiefs  of  coarse  blue,  green,  or  yel- 
low bandanna  were  for  greater  convenience  in  hot  weather 
knotted  at  the  ends  and  thrown  shawlwise  around  the 
shoulders.  Against  a  background  of  olive  foliage,  the  effect 
was  always  striking  and  kaleidoscopic.  The  soft  felt, 
broad-brimmed  hat,  since  known  as  the  California  hat,  was 
their  only  head-covering.  A  tall  hat  on  anybody  but  a 
clergyman  or  a  gambler  would  have  justified  a  blow. 

They  were  singularly  handsome,  to  a  man.  Not  solely 
in  the  muscular  development  and  antique  grace  acquired 
through  open-air  exercise  and  unrestrained  freedom  of 
limb,  but  often  in  color,  expression,  and  even  softness  of 
outline.  They  were  mainly  young  men,  whose  beards  were 
virgin,  soft,  silken,  and  curling.  They  had  not  always 
time  to  cut  their  hair,  and  this  often  swept  their  shoulders 
with  the  lovelocks  of  Charles  II.  There  were  faces  that 
made  one  think  of  Delaroche's  Saviour.  There  were  dash- 
ing figures,  bold-eyed,  jauntily  insolent,  and  cavalierly 
reckless,  that  would  have  delighted  Meissonier.  Add  to 
this  the  foreign  element  of  Chilian  and  Mexican,  and  you 
have  a  combination  of  form  and  light  and  color  unknown 
to  any  other  modern  English-speaking  community.  At 
sunset  on  the  red  mountain  road,  a  Mexican  pack-train 
perhaps  slowly  winds  its  way  toward  the  plain.  Each 
animal  wears  a  gayly  colored  blanket  beneath  its  pack 
saddle ;  the  leading  mule  is  musical  with  bells,  and  brightly 
caparisoned;  the  muleteers  wear  the  national  dress,  with 
striped  scrape  of  red  and  black,  deerskin  trousers  open 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

from  the  knee,  and  fringes  with  bullion  buttons,  and  have 
on  each  heel  a  silver  spur  with  rowels  three  inches  in 
diameter.  If  they  were  thus  picturesque  in  external 
magnificence,  no  less  romantic  were  they  in  expression 
and  character.  Their  hospitality  was  barbaric,  their  gen- 
erosity spontaneous.  Their  appreciation  of  merit  always 
took  the  form  of  pecuniary  testimonials,  whether  it  was 
a  church  and  parsonage  given  to  a  favorite  preacher,  or 
the  Danae-like  shower  of  gold  they  rained  upon  the  pretty 
person  of  a  popular  actress.  No  mendicant  had  to  beg;  a 
sympathizing  bystander  took  up  a  subscription  in  his  hat. 
Their  generosity  was  emulative  and  cumulative.  During 
the  great  War  of  the  Rebellion,  the  millions  gathered  in 
the  Treasury  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  had  their  source 
in  a  San  Francisco  bar-room.  "It's  mighty  rough  on 
those  chaps  who  are  wounded,"  said  a  casual  drinker, 
"and  I  'm  sorry  for  them."  "How  much  are  you  sorry?  ". 
asked  a  gambler.  "Five  hundred  dollars,"  said  the  first 
speaker  aggressively.  "I  '11  see  that  five  hundred  dollars, 
and  go  a  thousand  better ! "  said  the  gambler,  putting 
down  the  money.  In  half  an  hour  fifteen  thousand  dol- 
lars was  telegraphed  to  Washington  from  San  Francisco, 
and  this  great  national  charity  —  open  to  North  and  South 
alike,  afterwards  reinforced  by  three  millions  of  Califor- 
nia gold  —  sprang  into  life. 

In  their  apparently  thoughtless  free-handedness  there 
was  often  a  vein  of  practical  sagacity.  It  is  a  well-known 
fact  that  after  the  great  fire  in  Sacramento,  the  first  sub- 
scription to  the  rebuilding  of  the  Methodist  Church  came 
from  the  hands  of  a  noted  gambler.  The  good  pastor, 
while  accepting  the  gift,  could  not  help  asking  the  giver 
why  he  did  not  keep  the  money  to  build  another  gambling- 
house.  "  It  would  be  making  things  a  little  monotonous 
out  yer,  ole  man,"  responded  the  gambler  gravely,  "and 
\t  's  variety  that 's  wanted  for  a  big  town." 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

They  were  splendidly  loyal  in  their  friendships.  Per- 
haps the  absence  of  female  society  and  domestic  ties  turned 
the  current  of  their  tenderness  and  sentiment  towards  each 
other.  To  be  a  man's  "partner"  signified  something  more 
than  a  common  pecuniary  or  business  interest;  it  was  to 
l>e  his  friend  through  good  or  ill  report,  in  adversity  or 
fortune,  to  cleave  to  him  and  none  other  —  to  be  ever  jeal- 
ous of  him !  There  were  Argonauts  who  were  more  faith- 
ful to  their  partners  than,  I  fear,  they  had  ever  been  to 
their  wives;  there  were  partners  whom  even  the  grave 
could  not  divide  —  who  remained  solitary  and  loyal  to  a 
dead  man's  memory.  To  insult  a  man's  partner  was  "to 
insult  him ;  to  step  between  two  partners  in  a  quarrel  was, 
attended  with  the  same  danger  and  uncertainty  that  in- 
volves the  peacemaker  in  a  conjugal  dispute.  The  heroic 
possibilities  of  a  Damon  and  a  Pythias  were  always  present ; 
there  were  men  who  had  fulfilled  all  those  conditions,  and 
better  still  without  a  knowledge  or  belief  that  they  were 
classical,  with  no  mythology  to  lean  their  backs  against, 
and  hardly  a  conscious  appreciation  of  a  later  faith  that  is 
symbolized  by  sacrifice.  In  these  unions  there  were  the 
same  odd  combinations  often  seen  in  the  marital  relations: 
a  tall  and  a  short  man,  a  delicate  sickly  youth  and  a  middle- 
aged  man  of  powerful  frame,  a  grave  reticent  nature  and 
a  spontaneous  exuberant  one.  Yet  in  spite  of  these  in- 
congruities there  was  always  the  same  blind  unreasoning 
fidelity  to  each  other.  It  is  true  that  their  zeal  sometimes 
outran  their  discretion.  There  is  a  story  extant  that  a 
San  Francisco  stranger,  indulging  in  some  free  criticism  of 
religious  denominations,  suddenly  found  himself  sprawling 
upon  the  floor  with  an  irate  Kentuckian,  revolver  in  hand, 
standing  over  him.  When  an  explanation  was  demanded 
by  the  crowd,  the  Kentuckian  pensively  returned  his  re- 
volver to  his  belt.  "Well,  /  ain't  got  anythin'  agin  the 
stranger,  but  he  said  somethin'  a  minit  ago  agin  Quakers, 


INTRODUCTION  XXT 

and  I  want  him  to  understand  that  my  pardner  is  a  Quak- 
er, and  —  a  peaceful  man  !  " 

I  should  like  to  give  some  pictures  of  their  domestic 
life,  but  the  women  were  few  and  the  family  hearthstones 
and  domestic  altars  still  fewer.  Of  housewifely  virtues  the 
utmost  was  made;  the  model  spouse  invariably  kept  a 
boarding-house,  and  served  her  husband's  guests.  In  rare 
cases,  the  woman  who  was  a  crown  to  her  husband  took 
in  washing  also. 

There  was  a  woman  of  this  class  who  lived  in  a  little 
mining-camp  in  the  Sierras.  Her  husband  was  a  Texan 
—  a  good-humored  giant,  who  had  won  the  respect  of  the 
camp  probably  quite  as  much  by  his  amiable  weakness  as 
by  his  great  physical  power.  She  was  an  Eastern  woman; 
had  been,  I  think,  a  schoolmistress,  and  had  lived  in  cities 
up  to  the  time  of  her  marriage  and  emigration.  She  was 
not,  perhaps,  personally  attractive;  she  was  plain  and 
worn  beyond  her  years,  and  her  few  personal  accomplish- 
ments —  a  slight  knowledge  of  French  and  Italian,  music, 
the  Latin  classification  of  plants,  natural  philosophy ,  and 
Blair's  Rhetoric  —  did  not  tell  upon  the  masculine  inhabi- 
tants of  Ringtail  Canon.  Yet  she  was  universally  loved, 
and  Aunt  Ruth,  as  she  was  called,  or  "Old  Ma'am  Rich- 
ards," was  lifted  into  an  idealization  of  the  aunt,  mother, 
or  sister  of  every  miner  in  the  camp.  She  reciprocated  in 
a  thousand  kindly  ways,  mending  the  clothes,  ministering 
to  the  sick,  and  even  answering  the  long  home  letters  of 
the  men. 

Presently  she  fell  ill.  Nobody  knew  exactly  what  was 
die  matter  with  her,  but  she  pined  slowly  away.  When 
the  burthen  of  her  household  tasks  was  lifted  from  her 
shoulders,  she  took  to  long  walks,  wandering  over  the  hills, 
and  was  often  seen  upon  the  highest  ridge  at  sunset,  look- 
ing toward  the  east.  Here  at  last  she  was  found  sense- 
less, —  the  result,  it  was  said,  of  over  exertion,  and  she 


XXvi  INTRODUCTION 

was  warned  to  keep  her  house.  So  she  kept  her  house, 
and  even  went  so  far  as  to  keep  her  bed.  One  day,  to 
everybody's  astonishment,  she  died.  "Do  you  know  what 
they  say  Ma'am  Richards  died  of  ?  "  said  Yuba  Bill  to  his 
partner.  "The  doctor  says  she  died  of  nostalgia,"  said 
Bill.  "What  blank  thing  is  nostalgia ?"  asked  the  other. 
''Well,  it 's  a  kind  o'  longin'  to  go  to  heaven!  "  Perhaps 
he  was  right. 

As  a  general  thing  the  Argonauts  were  not  burthened 
with  sentiment,  and  were  utterly  free  from  its  more  dan- 
gerous ally,  sentimentalism.  They  took  a  sardonic  delight 
in  stripping  all  meretricious  finery  from  their  speech;  they 
had  a  sarcastic  fashion  of  eliminating  everything  but  the 
facts  from  poetic  or  imaginative  narrative.  With  all  that 
terrible  directness  of  statement  which  was  habitual  to 
them,  when  they  indulged  in  innuendo  it  was  significantly 
cruel  and  striking.  In  the  early  days,  Lynch  law  pun- 
ished horse-stealing  with  death.  A  man  one  day  was 
arrested  and  tried  for  this  offense.  After  hearing  the  evi- 
dence, the  jury  duly  retired  to  consult  upon  their  verdict. 
For  some  reason  —  perhaps  from  an  insufficiency  of  proof, 
perhaps  from  motives  of  humanity,  perhaps  because  the 
census  was  already  showing  an  alarming  decrease  in  the 
male  population  —  the  jury  showed  signs  of  hesitation. 
The  crowd  outside  became  impatient.  After  waiting  an 
hour,  the  ringleader  put  his  head  into  the  room  and  asked 
if  the  jury  had  settled  upon  a  verdict.  "No,"  said  the 
foreman.  "Well,"  answered  the  leader,  "take  your  own 
time,  gentlemen;  only  remember  that  we're  waitin'  for 
this  yer  room  to  lay  out  the  corpse  in ! " 

Their  humor  was  frequent,  although  never  exuberant  or 
spontaneous,  and  always  contained  a  certain  percentage  of 
rude  justice  or  morality  under  its  sardonic  exterior.  The 
only  ethical  teaching  of  those  days  was  through  a  joke  or 
a  sarcasm.  While  camps  were  moved  by  an  epigram,  the 


INTRODUCTION  xxvii 

rude  equity  of  Judge  Lynch  was  swayed  by  a  witticism. 
Even  their  pathos,  which  was  more  or  less  dramatic,  partook 
of  this  quality.  The  odd  expression,  the  quaint  fancy,  or 
even  the  grotesque  gesture  that  rippled  the  surface  con- 
sciousness with  a  smile,  a  moment  later  touched  the  depths 
of  the  heart  with  a  sense  of  infinite  sadness.  They  indulged 
sparingly  in  poetry  and  illustration,  using  only  its  rude, 
inchoate  form  of  slang.  Unlike  the  meaningless  cues  and 
catch-words  of  an  older  civilization,  their  slang  was  the 
condensed  epigrammatic  illustration  of  some  fact,  fancy,  or 
perception.  Generally  it  had  some  significant  local  deriva- 
tion. The  half-yearly  drought  brought  forward  the  popu- 
lar adjuration  "dry  up"  to  express  the  natural  climax  of 
evaporated  fluency.  "  Played  out "  was  a  reminiscence  of 
the  gambling-table,  and  expressed  that  hopeless  condition 
of  affairs  when  even  the  operations  of  chance  are  suspended. 
To  "  take  stock "  in  any  statement,  theory,  or  suggestion 
indicates  a  pecuniary  degree  of  trustful  credulity.  One 
can  hardly  call  that  slang,  even  though  it  came  from  a 
gambler's  lips,  which  gives  such  a  vivid  condensation  of 
death  and  the  reckoning  hereafter  as  was  conveyed  in  the 
expression,  "handing  in  your  checks."  In  those  days  the 
slang  was  universal;  there  was  no  occasion  to  which  it 
seemed  inconsistent.  Thomas  Starr  King  once  told  me 
that,  after  delivering  a  certain  controversial  sermon,  he 
overheard  the  following  dialogue  between  a  parishioner  and 
his  friend.  "Well,"  said  the  enthusiastic  parishioner, 
referring  to  the  sermon,  "what  do  you  think  of  King 
now?"  "Think  of  him?"  responded  the  friend,  "why, 
he  took  every  trick !  " 

Sometimes,  through  the  national  habit  of  amusing  exag- 
geration or  equally  grotesque  understatement,  certain  words 
acquired  a  new  significance.  I  remember  the  first  night 
I  spent  in  Virginia  City  was  at  a  new  hotel  which  had 
been  but  recently  opened.  After  I  had  got  comfortably 


XXViii  INTRODUCTION 

to  bed,  I  was  aroused  by  the  noise  of  scuffling  and  shout- 
ing  below,  punctuated  by  occasional  pistol  shots.  In  the 
morning  I  made  my  way  to  the  bar-room,  and  found  the 
landlord  behind  his  counter  with  a  bruised  eye,  a  piece  of 
court  plaster  extending  from  his  cheek  to  his  forehead,  yet 
withal  a  pleasant  smile  upon  his  face.  Taking  my  cue 
from  this  I  said  to  him :  "  Well,  landlord,  you  had  rather 
a  lively  time  here  last  night."  "Yes,"  he  replied,  pleas- 
antly. "  It  was  rather  a  lively  time !  "  "  Do  you  often 
have  such  lively  times  in  Virginia  City  1 "  I  added,  embold- 
ened by  his  cheerfulness.  "Well,  no,"  he  said,  reflec- 
tively; "the  fact  is  we've  only  just  opened  yer,  and  last 
night  was  about  the  first  time  that  the  boys  seemed  to  be 
gettin'  really  acquainted  !  " 

The  man  who  objected  to  join  in  a  bear  hunt  because 
"he  hadn't  lost  any  bears  lately,"  and  the  man  who 
replied  to  the  tourist's  question  "  if  they  grew  any  corn  in 
that  locality"  by  saying  "not  a  d — d  bit,  in  fact  scarcely 
any,"  offered  easy  examples  of  this  characteristic  anti- 
climax and  exaggeration.  Often  a  flavor  of  gentle  philoso- 
phy mingled  with  it.  "In  course  I'd  rather  not  drive  a 
mule  team,"  said  a  teamster  to  me.  "In  course  I  'd  rather 
run  a  bank  or  be  President:  but  when  you  've  lived  as  long 
as  I  have,  stranger,  you  '11  find  that  in  this  yer  world  a 
man  don't  always  get  his  '  drathers. '"  Often  a  man's 
trade  or  occupation  lent  a  graphic  power  to  his  speech. 
On  one  occasion  an  engineer  was  relating  to  me  the  par- 
ticulars of  a  fellow  workman's  death  by  consumption. 
"Poor  Jim,"  he  said,  "he  got  to  running  slower  and 
slower,  until  one  day  —  he  stopped  on  his  centre !  "  What 
a  picture  of  the  helpless  hitch  in  this  weary  human 
machine!  Sometimes  the  expression  was  borrowed  from 
another's  profession.  At  one  time  there  was  a  difficulty 
in  a  surveyor's  camp  between  the  surveyor  and  a  China, 
man.  "If  I  was  you,"  said  a  sympathizing  teamster  to  the 


INTRODUCTION  xxix 

surveyor,  "I  'd  jest  take  that  chap  and  theodolite  him  out 
o'  camp."  Sometimes  the  slang  was  a  mere  echo  of  the 
formulas  of  some  popular  excitement  or  movement.  Dur- 
ing a  camp-meeting  in  the  mountains,  a  teamster  who  had 
been  swearing  at  his  cattle  was  rebuked  for  his  impiety  by 
a  young  woman  who  had  just  returned  from  the  meeting. 
" Why,  Miss,"  said  the  astonished  teamster,  "you  don't 
call  that  swearing,  do  you?  Why,  you  ought  to  hear 
Bill  Jones  exhort  the  impenitent  mule ! " 

But  can  we  entirely  forgive  the  Argonaut  for  making  hh 
slang  gratuitously  permanent,  for  foisting  upon  posterity, 
who  may  forget  these  extenuating  circumstances,  such  titles 
as  "One  Horse  Gulch,"  "Poker  Flat,"  "Greaser  Canon," 
"Fiddletown,"  "Murderer's  Bar,"  "and  "Dead  Broke"? 
The  map  of  California  is  still  ghastly  with  this  unhallowed 
christening.  A  tourist  may  well  hesitate  to  write  "  Dead 
Broke,"  at  the  top  of  his  letter,  and  any  stranger  would  be 
justified  in  declining  an  invitation  to  "Murderer's  Bar." 
It  seemed  as  if  the  early  Californian  took  a  sardonic  delight 
in  the  contrast  which  these  names  offered  to  the  euphony  of 
the  old  Spanish  titles.  It  is  fortunate  that  with  few  excep- 
tions the  counties  -of  the  State  still  bear  the  soft  Castilian 
labials  and  gentle  vowels.  Tuolumne,  Tulare,  Yolo,  Cala- 
veras,  Sonoma,  Tehema,  Siskyou,  and  Mendocino,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  glorious  company  of  the  Apostles  who  per- 
petually praise  California  through  the  Spanish  Catholic 
calendar.  Yet  wherever  a  saint  dropped  a  blessing,  some 
sinner  afterwards  squatted  with  an  epithet.  Extremes 
often  meet.  The  omnibuses  in  San  Francisco  used  to  run 
from  Happy  Valley  to  the  Mission  Dolores.  You  had  to 
go  to  Blaises  first  before  you  could  get  to  Purissima. 
Yet  I  think  the  ferocious  directness  of  these  titles  was 
preferable  to  the  pinchbeck  elegance  of  "  Copperopolis, " 
"  Argentinia, "  the  polyglot  monstrosities  of  "Oroville,"  of 
s<  Placerville, "  or  the  remarkable  sentiment  of  "Komeos- 


xxx  INTRODUCTION 

burgh  "  and  "  Julietstown. "  Sometimes  the  national  tend- 
ency to  abbreviation  was  singularly  shown.  "Jamestown," 
near  Sonora,  was  always  known  as  "Jimtown,"  and 
"  Moquelumne  Hill, "  after  first  suffering  phonetic  torture 
by  being  spelt  with  a  "k,"  was  finally  drawn  and  quartered 
and  now  appears  on  the  stage-coach  as  "Mok  Hill."  There 
were  some  names  that  defied  all  conjecture.  The  Pioneer 
coaches  changed  horses  at  a  place  called  "Paradox."  Why 
Paradox  1  No  one  could  tell. 

I  wish  I  could  say  that  the  Spaniard  fared  any  better 
than  his  language  at  the  hands  of  the  Argonauts.  He  was 
called  a  "Greaser,"  an  unctuous  reminiscence  of  the  Mexi- 
can war,  and  applied  erroneously  to  the  Spanish  Califor- 
nian,  who  was  not  a  Mexican.  The  pure  blood  of  Castile 
ran  in  his  veins.  He  held  his  lands  sometimes  by  royal 
patent  of  Charles  V.  He  was  grave,  simple,  and  confiding. 
He  accepted  the  Argonaut's  irony  as  sincere,  he  permitted 
him  to  squat  on  his  lands,  he  allowed  him  to  marry  his 
daughter.  He  found  himself,  in  a  few  years,  laughed  at, 
landless,  and  alone.  In  his  sore  extremity  he  entered  into 
a  defensive  alliance  with  some  of  his  persecutors,  and 
avenged  himself  after  an  extraordinary  fashion.  In  all 
matters  relating  to  early  land  grants  he  was  the  evergreen 
witness;  his  was  the  only  available  memory,  his  the  only 
legal  testimony,  on  the  Coast.  Perhaps  strengthened  by 
this  repeated  exercise,  his  memory  became  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary,  his  testimony  the  most  complete  and  corro- 
borative, known  to  human  experience.  He  recalled  conver- 
sations, official  orders,  and  precedents  of  fifty  years  ago  as 
if  they  were  matters  of  yesterday.  He  produced  grants, 
'/'•>•<  nos,  signatures,  and  letters  with  promptitude  and 
despatch.  He  evolved  evidence  from  his  inner  conscious- 
ness, and  in  less  than  three  years  Spanish  land  titles  were 
lost  in  hopeless  confusion  and  a  cloud  of  witnesses.  The 
wily  Argonauts  cursed  the  aptness  of  their  pupil. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxi 

Socially  he  clung  to  his  old  customs.  He  had  his  regu- 
lar fandango,  strummed  his  guitar,  and  danced  the  semi- 
ciifica.  He  had  his  regular  Sunday  bull-fights  after  Mass. 
I  Jut  the  wily  Argonaut  introduced  "breakdowns"  in  the 
fandango,  substituted  the  banjo  for  the  guitar,  and  Bour- 
bon whiskey  for  aguardiente.  He  even  went  so  far  as 
to  interfere  with  the  bull  -  fights,  not  so  much  from  a 
sense  of  moral  ethics  as  with  a  view  to  giving  the  bulls  a 
show.  On  one  or  two  occasions  he  substituted  a  grizzly 
bear,  who  not  only  instantly  cleared  the  arena,  but  play- 
fully wiped  out  the  first  two  rows  of  benches  beyond.  He 
learned  horsemanship  from  the  Spaniard  and  —  ran  off  his 
cattle. 

Yet,  before  taking  leave  of  the  Spanish  American,  it  is 
well  to  recall  a  single  figure.  It  is  that  of  the  earliest 
pioneer  known  to  Californian  history.  He  comes  to  us 
toiling  over  a  southern  plain  —  an  old  man,  weak,  ema- 
ciated, friendless,  and  alone.  He  has  left  his  weary  mule- 
teers and  acolytes  a  league  behind  him,  and  has  wandered 
on  without  scrip  or  wallet,  bearing  only  a  crucifix  and  a 
bell.  It  is  a  characteristic  plain,  one  that  tourists  do  not 
usually  penetrate  :  scorched  yet  bleak,  windswept,  blasted 
and  baked  to  its  very  foundations,  and  cracked  into  gaping 
chasms.  As  the  pitiless  sun  goes  down,  the  old  man  stag- 
gers forward  and  falls  utterly  exhausted.  He  lies  there 
all  night.  Towards  morning  he  is  found  by  some  Indians, 
a  feeble,  simple  race,  who  in  uncouth  kindness  offer 
him  food  and  drink.  But  before  he  accepts  either,  he 
rises  to  his  knees,  and  there  says  matins  and  baptizes 
them  in  the  Catholic  faith.  And  then  it  occurs  to  him 
to  ask  them  where  he  is,  and  he  finds  that  he  has  pene- 
trated into  the  unknown  land.  This  was  Padre  Junipero 
Serra,  and  the  sun  arose  that  morning  on  Christian  Califor- 
nia. Weighed  by  the  usual  estimates  of  success,  his  mis- 
sion was  a  failure.  The  heathen  stole  his  provisions  and 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION 

massacred  his  acolytes.  It  is  said  that  the  good  fathers 
themselves  sometimes  confounded  baptism  and  bondage, 
and  laid  the  foundation  of  peonage ;  but  in  the  bloodstained 
and  tear-blotted  chronicle  of  early  California,  there  is  no 
more  heroic  figure  than  the  thin,  travel- worn,  self-centred, 
self-denying  Franciscan  friar. 

If  I  have  thus  far  refrained  from  eulogizing  the  virtue,- 
of  another  characteristic  figure,  it  is  because  he  came  later. 
The  Heathen  Chinee  was  not  an  Argonaut.  But  he 
brought  into  the  Argonaut's  new  life  an  odd  conservatism. 
Quiet,  calm,  almost  philosophic,  but  never  obtrusive  or 
aggressive,  he  never  flaunted  his  three  thousand  years 
in  the  face  of  the  men  of  to-day ;  he  never  obtruded  his 
extensive  mythology  before  men  who  were  skeptical  of 
even  one  God.  He  accepted  at  once  a  menial  position 
with  dignity  and  self-respect.  He  washed  for  the  whole 
community,  and  made  cleanliness  an  accessible  virtue. 
He  brought  patience  and  novelty  into  the  kitchen ;  he 
brought  silence,  obedience,  and  a  certain  degree  of  intelli- 
gence into  the  whole  sphere  of  domestic  service.  He  stood 
behind  your  chair,  quiet,  attentive,  but  uncommunicative. 
He  waited  upon  you  at  table  with  the  air  of  the  man  who, 
knowing  himself  superior,  could  not  jeopardize  his  posi- 
tion. He  worshipped  the  devil  in  your  household  with 
a  frank  sincerity  and  openness  that  shamed  your  own 
covert  and  feeble  attempts  in  that  direction.  Although  he 
wore  your  clothes,  spoke  your  language,  and  imitated  yoiu 
vices,  he  was  always  involved  in  his  own  Celestial  atmos- 
phere. He  consorted  only  with  his  fellows,  consumed 
his  own  peculiar  provisions,  bought  his  goods  of  the 
Chinese  companies,  and  when  he  died,  his  bones  were  sent 
to  China!  He  left  no  track,  trace,  or  imprint  on  the  civi- 
lization. He  claimed  no  civil  right;  he  wanted  no  fran- 
chise. He  took  his  regular  beatings  calmly ;  he  submitted 
to  scandalous  extortion  from  state  and  individual  with 


INTRODUCTION  xxxiii 

tranquillity ;  he  bore  robbery  and  even  murder  with  stoical 
fortitude.  Perhaps  it  was  well  that  he  did.  Christian 
civilization,  which  declared  by  statute  that  his  testimony 
was  valueless;  which  intimated  by  its  practice  that  the 
same  vices  in  a  pagan  were  worse  than  in  a  Christian; 
which  regarded  the  frailty  of  his  women  as  being  especially 
abominable  and  his  own  gambling  propensities  as  some- 
thing originally  bad,  taught  him  at  least  the  Christian 
virtues  of  patience  and  resignation. 

Did  he  ever  get  even  with  the  Christian  Argonauts? 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  did.  Indeed,  in  some 
instances  I  may  say  that  I  know  that  he  did.  He  had  a 
universal,  simple  way  of  defrauding  the  customs.  .He 
filled  the  hollows  of  bamboo  chairs  with  opium,  and,  sit- 
ting calmly  on  them,  conversed  with  dignity  with  custom- 
house officials.  He  made  the  amplitude  of  his  sleeve  and 
trouser  useful  as  well  as  ornamental  on  similar  occasions. 
He  evaded  the  state  poll  tax  by  taking  the  name  and 
assuming  the  exact  facial  expression  of  some  brother  Celes- 
tial who  had  already  paid.  He  turned  his  skill  as  a  horti- 
culturist to  sinful  account  by  investing  rose  bushes  with 
imitations  of  that  flower  made  out  of  carrots  and  turnips. 
He  acquired^  Latin  and  Greek  with  peculative  rather  than 
scholastic  intent,  and  borrowed  fifty  dollars  from  a  Cali- 
fornian  clergyman  while  he  soothed  his  ear  with  the 
Homeric  accents.  But  perhaps  his  most  successful  attempt 
at  balancing  his  account  with  a  Christian  civilization  was 
his  career  as  a  physician. 

One  day  he  opened  a  doctor's  office  in  San  Francisco. 
By  the  aid  of  clever  confederates,  miraculous  cures  were 
trumpeted  through  the  land,  until  people  began  to  flock 
to  his  healing  ministration.  His  doorways  were  beset 
by  an  army  of  invalids.  Two  interpreters,  like  the  angels 
in  the  old  legend,  listened  night  and  day  to  the  ills  told 
by  the  people  that  crowded  this  Hygeian  temple.  They 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION 

translated  into  the  common  tongue  the  words  of  wisdom 
that  fell  from  the  oracular  lips  of  this  slant-eyed  Apollo. 
Doctor  Lipotai  was  eminently  successful.  Presently,  how- 
ever, there  were  Chinese  doctors  on  every  corner.  A  sign 
with  the  proper  monosyllables,  a  pigtail  and  an  interpreter, 
were  the  only  stock  in  trade  required.  The  pagan  knew 
that  no  one  would  stop  to  reason.  The  ignorant  heathen 
was  aware  that  no  one  would  stop  to  consider  what  superior 
opportunities  the  Chinese  had  for  medical  knowledge  over 
the  practitioners  of  his  own  land.  This  debased  old  idolater 
knew  that  these  intelligent  Christians  would  think  that  it 
might  be  magic,  and  so  would  come.  And  they  did  come. 
And  he  gave  them  green  tea  for  tubercular  consumption, 
ginger  for  aneurism,  and  made  them  smell  punk  for  dropsy. 
The  treatment  was  harmless,  but  wearisome.  Suddenly, 
a  well  known  Oriental  scholar  published  a  list  of  the  reme- 
dies ordinarily  used  in  the  Chinese  medical  practice.  I 
regret  to  say  that  for  obvious  reasons  I  cannot  repeat  the 
unsavory  list  here.  It  was  enough,  however,  to  produce 
the  ordinary  symptoms  of  sea-sickness  among  the  doctor's 
patients.  The  celestial  star  at  once  began  to  wane.  The 
oracle  ceased  to  be  questioned.  The  sibyls  got  off  their 
tripods.  And  Doctor  Lipotai,  with  a  half  million  in  his 
pocket,  returned  to  his  native  rice  and  the  na'ive  simplicity 
of  Chinese  Camp. 

And  with  this  receding  figure  bringing  up  the  rear  of 
the  procession,  I  close  my  review  of  the  Argonauts  of  '49. 
In  their  rank  and  file  there  may  be  many  who  are  person- 
ally known  to  some  of  my  hearers.  There  may  be  gaps 
which  the  memory  of  others  can  supply.  There  are 
homes  all  over  the  world  whose  vacant  places  never  can  be 
filled ;  there  are  graves  all  over  California  on  whose  name- 
less mounds  no  one  shall  weep.  I  have  said  that  it  is  not 
a  pretty  story.  I  should  like  to  end  it  with  a  nourish  of 
trumpets,  but  the  band  has  gone  on  before,  and  the  dust 


INTRODUCTION  xx  A  v 

of  the  highway  is  beginning  to  hide  them  from  my  view. 
They  are  marching  on  to  their  city  by  the  sea  —  to  that 
great  lodestone  hill  that  Sindbad  saw,  which  they  call 
"Lone  Mountain."  There,  waiting  at  its  base,  one  may 
fancy  the  Argo  is  still  lying,  and  that  when  the  last  Argo- 
naut shall  have  passed  in,  she  too  will  spread  her  white 
wings  and  slip  unnoticed  through  the  Golden  Gate  that 
opens  in  the  distance. 


TALES  OF  THE  ARGONAUTS 


THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR 

BEFORE  nine  o'clock  it  was  pretty  well  known  all  along 
the  river  that  the  two  parties  of  the  "  Amity  Claim  "  had 
quarreled  and  separated  at  daybreak.  At  that  time  the 
attention  of  their  nearest  neighbor  had  been  attracted  by 
the  sounds  of  altercations  and  two  consecutive  pistol-shots. 
Running  out,  he  had  seen  dimly  in  the  gray  mist  that  rose 
from  the  river  the  tall  form  of  Scott,  one  of  the  partners, 
descending  the  hill  toward  the  canon ;  a  moment  later, 
York,  the  other  partner,  had  appeared  from  the  cabin,  and 
walked  in  an  opposite  direction  toward  the  river,  passing 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  curious  watcher.  Later  it  was  dis- 
covered that  a  serious  Chinaman,  cutting  wood  before  the 
cabin,  had  witnessed  part  of  the  quarrel.  But  John  was 
stolid,  indifferent,  and  reticent.  "  Me  choppee  wood,  me 
no  fightee,"  was  his  serene  response  to  all  anxious  queries. 
"  But  what  did  they  say,  John  ?  "  John  did  not  sale. 
Colonel  Starbottle  deftly  ran  over  the  various  popular 
epithets  which  a  generous  public  sentiment  might  accept  as 
reasonable  provocation  for  an  assault.  But  John  did  not 
recognize  them.  "  And  this  yer  's  the  cattle,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  some  severity,  "  that  some  thinks  oughter 
be  allowed  to  testify  agin  a  White  Man !  Git  —  you  hea- 
then !  " 

Still  the  quarrel  remained  inexplicable.     That  two  men, 


2  THE   ILIAD  OF  SANDY   BAR 

whose  amiability  and  grave  tact  had  earned  for  them  the 
title  of  "  The  Peacemakers,"  in  a  community  not  greatly 
given  to  the  passive  virtues,  —  that  these  men,  singularly 
devoted  to  each  other,  should  suddenly  and  violently  quar- 
rel, might  well  excite  the  curiosity  of  the  camp.  A  few  of 
the  more  inquisitive  visited  the  late  scene  of  conflict,  now 
deserted  by  its  former  occupants.  There  was  no  trace  of 
disorder  or  confusion  in  the  neat  cabin.  The  rude  table 
was  arranged  as  if  for  breakfast ;  the  pan  of  yellow  biscuit 
still  sat  upon  that  hearth  whose  dead  embers  might  have 
typified  the  evil  passions  that  had  raged  there  but  an  hour 
before.  But  Colonel  Starbottle's  eye,  albeit  somewhat 
bloodshot  and  rheumy,  was  more  intent  on  practical  details. 
On  examination,  a  bullet-hole  was  found  in  the  doorpost, 
and  another  nearly  opposite  in  the  casing  of  the  window. 
The  Colonel  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  one 
"  agreed  with  "  the  bore  of  Scott's  revolver,  and  the  other 
with  that  of  York's  derringer.  "  They  must  hev  stood 
about  yer,"  said  the  Colonel,  taking  position  ;  "  not  more'n 
three  feet  apart,  and  —  missed  !  "  There  was  a  fine  touch 
of  pathos  in  the  falling  inflection  of  the  Colonel's  voice, 
which  was  not  without  effect.  A  delicate  perception  of 
wasted  opportunity  thrilled  his  auditors. 

But  the  Bar  was  destined  to  experience  a  greater  dis- 
appointment. The  two  antagonists  had  not  met  since  the 
quarrel,  and  it  was  vaguely  rumored  that,  on  the  occasion 
of  a  second  meeting,  each  had  determined  to  kill  the  other 
"  on  sight."  There  was,  consequently,  some  excitement  — 
and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  no  little  gratification  —  when,  at  ten 
o'clock,  York  stepped  from  the  Magnolia  Saloon  into  the 
one  long  straggling  street  of  the  camp,  at  the  same  moment 
that  Scott  left  the  blacksmith's  shop  at  the  forks  of  the 
road.  It  was  evident,  at  a  glance,  that  a  meeting  could 
only  be  avoided  by  the  actual  retreat  of  one  or  the  other. 

In  an  instant  the  doors  and   windows  of    the   adjacent 


THE   ILIAD   OF  SANDY   BAR  3 

saloons  were  filled  with  faces.  Heads  unaccountably  ap- 
peared above  the  river  banks  and  from  behind  boulders. 
An  empty  wagon  at  the  cross-road  was  suddenly  crowded 
with  people,  who  seemed  to  have  sprung  from  the  earth. 
There  was  much  running  and  confusion  on  the  hillside. 
On  the  mountain-road,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  had  reined  up  his 
horse  and  was  standing  upright  on  the  seat  of  his  buggy. 
And  the  two  objects  of  this  absorbing  attention  approached 
each  other. 

"  York  's  got  the  sun,"  "  Scott  '11  line  him  on  that  tree," 
"  He 's  waiting  to  draw  his  fire,"  came  from  the  cart ;  and 
then  it  was  silent.  But  above  this  human  breathlessness 
the  river  rushed  and  sang,  and  the  wind  rustled  the  tree- 
tops  with  an  indifference  that  seemed  obtrusive.  Colonel 
Starbottle  felt  it,  and  in  a  moment  of  sublime  preoccupa- 
tion, without  looking  around,  waved  his  cane  behind  him 
warningly  to  all  Nature,  and  said,  "  Shu !  " 

The  men  were  now  within  a  few  feet  of  each  other.  A 
hen  ran  across  the  road  before  one  of  them.  A  feathery 
seed  vessel,  wafted  from  a  wayside  tree,  fell  at  the  feet  of 
the  other.  And,  unheeding  this  irony  of  Nature,  the  two 
opponents  came  nearer,  erect  and  rigid,  looked  in  each 
other's  eyes,  and  —  passed  ! 

Colonel  Starbottle  had  to  be  lifted  from  the  cart.  "  This 
yer  camp  is  played  out,"  he  said  gloomily,  as  he  affected  to 
be  supported  into  the  Magnolia.  With  what  further  expres- 
sion he  might  have  indicated  his  feelings  it  was  impossible 
to  say,  for  at  that  moment  Scott  joined  the  group.  "  Did 
you  speak  to  me  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  Colonel,  dropping  his 
hand,  as  if  with  accidental  familiarity,  on  that  gentleman's 
shoulder.  The  Colonel,  recognizing  some  occult  quality  in 
the  touch,  and  some  unknown  quantity  .in  the  glance  of  his 
questioner,  contented  himself  by  replying,  "  No,  sir,"  with 
dignity.  A  few  rods  away,  York's  conduct  was  as  charac- 
teristic and  peculiar.  "You  had  a  mighty  fine  chance,- 


4  THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY    BAR 

why  did  n't  you  plump  him  ?  "  said  Jack  Hamlin,  as  York 
drew  near  the  buggy.  "  Because  I  hate  him,"  was  the 
reply,  heard  only  by  Jack.  Contrary  to  popular  belief, 
this  reply  was  not  hissed  between  the  lips  of  the  speaker, 
but  was  said  in  an  ordinary  tone.  But  Jack  Hamlin,  who 
was  an  observer  of  mankind,  noticed  that  the  speaker's 
hands  were  cold  and  his  lips  dry,  as  he  helped  him  into  the 
buggy,  and  accepted  the  seeming  paradox  with  a  smile. 

When  Sandy  Bar  became  convinced  that  the  quarrel 
between  York  and  Scott  could  not  be  settled  after  the  usual 
local  methods,  it  gave  no  further  concern  thereto.  But 
presently  it  was  rumored  that  the  "Amity  Claim  "  was  in 
litigation,  and  that  its  possession  would  be  expensively  dis- 
puted by  each  of  the  partners.  As  it  was  well  known  that 
vhe  claim  in  question  was  "  worked  out "  and  worthless,  and 
that  the  partners  whom  it  had  already  enriched  had  talked 
of  abandoning  it  but  a  day  or  two  before  the  quarrel,  this 
proceeding  could  only  be  accounted  for  as  gratuitous  spite. 
Later,  two  San  Francisco  lawyers  made  their  appearance  in 
this  guileless  Arcadia,  and  were  eventually  taken  into  the 
saloons,  and  —  what  was  pretty  much  the  same  thing  —  the 
confidences  of  the  inhabitants.  The  results  of  this  unhal- 
lowed intimacy  were  many  subpoenas  ;  and,  indeed,  when 
the  "  Amity  Claim  "  came  to  trial,  all  of  Sandy  Bar  that 
was  not  in  compulsory  attendance  at  the  county  seat  came 
there  from  curiosity.  The  gulches  and  ditches  for  miles 
around  were  deserted.  I  do  not  propose  to  describe  that 
already  famous  trial.  Enough  that,  in  the  language  of  the 
plaintiffs  counsel,  "  it  was  one  of  no  ordinary  significance, 
involving  the  inherent  rights  of  that  untiring  industry 
which  had  developed  the  Pactolian  resources  of  this  golden 
land  ;  "  and,  in  the,  homelier  phrase  of  Colonel  Starbottle, 
"  a  fuss  that  gentlemen  might  hev  settled  in  ten  minutes 
over  a  social  glass,  ef  they  meant  business;  or  in  ten 
seconds  with  a  revolver,  ef  they  meant  fun."  Scott  got  a 


THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY    BAR  5 

verdict,  from  which  York  instantly  appealed.      It  was  said 
that  he  had  sworn  to  spend  his  last  dollar  in  the  struggle. 

In  this  way  Sandy  Bar  began  to  accept  the  enmity  of  the 
former  partners  as  a  lifelong  feud,  and  the  fact  that  they 
had  ever  been  friends  was  forgotten.  The  few  who  expected 
to  learn  from  the  trial  the  origin  of  the  quarrel  were  dis- 
appointed. Among  the  various  conjectures,  that  which 
ascribed  some  occult  feminine  influence  as  the  cause  was 
naturally  popular  in  a  camp  given  to  dubious  compliment 
of  the  sex.  "  My  word  for  it,  gentlemen,"  said  Colonel 
Starbottle,  who  had  been  known  in  Sacramento  as  a  Gentle- 
man of  the  Old  School,  "  there  's  some  lovely  creature  at 
the  bottom  of  this."  The  gallant  Colonel  then  proceeded 
to  illustrate  his  theory  by  divers  sprightly  stories,  such  as 
Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School  are  in  the  habit  of  repeating, 
but  which,  from  deference  to  the  prejudices  of  gentlemen 
of  a  more  recent  school,  I  refrain  from  transcribing  here. 
But  it  would  appear  that  even  the  Colonel's  theory  was 
fallacious.  The  only  woman  who  personally  might  have 
exercised  any  influence  over  the  partners  was  the  pretty 
daughter  of  "  old  man  Folinsbee,"  of  Poverty  Flat,  at 
whose  hospitable  house  —  which  exhibited  some  comforts 
and  refinements  rare  in  that  crude  civilization  —  both  York 
and  Scott  were  frequent  visitors.  Yet  into  this  charming 
retreat  York  strode  one  evening  a  month  after  the  quarrel, 
and,  beholding  Scott  sitting  there,  turned  to  the  fair  hostess 
with  the  abrupt  query,  "  Do  you  love  this  man  ?  "  The 
young  woman  thus  addressed  returned  that  answer  —  at 
once  spirited  and  evasive  —  which  would  occur  to  most  of 
my  fair  readers  in  such  an  emergency.  Without  another 
word,  York  left  the  house.  "  Miss  Jo  "  heaved  the  least 
possible  sigh  as  the  door  closed  on  York's  curls  and  square 
shoulders,  and  then,  like  a  good  girl,  turned  to  her  insulted 
guest.  "  But  would  you  believe  it,  dear  ?  "  she  afterwards 
related  to  an  intimate  friend,  "the  other  creature,  afte- 


6  THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR 

glowering  at  me  for  a  moment,  got  upon  its  hind  legs, 
took  its  hat,  and  left  too ;  and  that 's  the  last  I  've  seen  oi 
either." 

The  same  hard  disregard  of  all  other  interests  or  feelings 
in  the  gratification  of  their  blind  rancor  characterized  all 
their  actions.  When  York  purchased  the  land  below  Scott's 
new  claim,  and  obliged  the  latter,  at  a  great  expense,  to 
make  a  long  detour  to  carry  a  "  tail-race  "  around  it,  Scott 
retaliated  by  building  a  dam  that  overflowed  York's  claim 
on  the  river.  It  was  Scott  who,  in  conjunction  with  Colonel 
Starbottle,  first  organized  that  active  opposition  to  the  China- 
men which  resulted  in  the  driving  off  of  York's  Mongolian 
laborers ;  it  was  York  who  built  the  wagon-road  and  estab- 
lished the  express  which  rendered  Scott's  mules  and  pack- 
trains  obsolete ;  it  was  Scott  who  called  into  life  the  Vigi- 
lance Committee  which  expatriated  York's  friend,  Jack 
Hamlin ;  it  was  York  who  created  the  "  Sandy  Bar  Her- 
ald," which  characterized  the  act  as  "  a  lawless  outrage " 
and  Scott  as  a  "  Border  Kuffian  ;  "  it  was  Scott,  at  the  head 
of  twenty  masked  men,  who,  one  moonlight  night,  threw  the 
offending  "  forms  "  into  the  yellow  river,  and  scattered  the 
types  in  the  dusty  road.  These  proceedings  were  received 
in  the  distant  and  more  civilized  outlying  towns  as  vague 
indications  of  progress  and  vitality.  I  have  before  me  a 
copy  of  the  "  Poverty  Plat  Pioneer "  for  the  week  ending 
August  12,  1856,  in  which  the  editor,  under  the  head  of 
"County  Improvements,"  says:  "The  new  Presbyterian 
Church  on  C  Street,  at  Sandy  Bar,  is-  completed.  It  stands 
upon  the  lot  formerly  occupied  by  the  Magnolia  Saloon, 
which  was  so  mysteriously  burnt  last  month.  The  temple, 
which  now  rises  like  a  Phoenix  from  the  ashes  of  the  Mag- 
nolia, is  virtually  the  free  gift  of.  H.  J.  York,  Esq.,  of 
Sandy  Bar,  who  purchased  the  lot  and  donated  the  lumber. 
Other  buildings  are  going  up  in  the  vicinity,  but  the  most 
noticeable  is  the  '  Sunny  South  Saloon,'  erected  by  Captain 


THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR  7 

Mat.  Scott,  nearly  opposite  the  church.  Captain  Scott  has 
spared  no  expense  in  the  furnishing  of  this  saloon,  which 
promises  to  be  one  of  the  most  agreeable  places  of  resort 
in  old  Tuolumne.  He  has  recently  imported  two  new  first- 
class  billiard-tables  with  cork  cushions.  Our  old  friend, 
'  Mountain  Jimmy,'  will  dispense  liquors  at  the  bar.  We 
refer  our  readers  to  the  advertisement  in  another  column. 
Visitors  to  Sandy  Bar  cannot  do  better  than  give  (  Jimmy ' 
a  call."  Among  the  local  items  occurred  the  following  : 
"  H.  J.  York,  Esq.,  of  Sandy  Bar,  has  offered  a  reward  of 
$100  for  the  detection  .of  the  parties  who  hauled  away  the 
steps  of  the  new  Presbyterian  Church,  C  Street,  Sandy  Bar, 
during  divine  service  on  Sabbath  evening  last.  Captain 
Scott  adds  another  hundred  for  the  capture  of  the  mis- 
creants who  broke  the  magnificent  plate-glass  windows  of 
the  new  saloon  on  the  following  evening.  There  is  some 
talk  of  reorganizing  the  old  Vigilance  Committee  at  Sandy 
Bar." 

When,  for  many  months  of  cloudless  weather,  the  hard, 
unwinking  sun  of  Sandy  Bar  had  regularly  gone  down  on 
the  unpacified  wrath  of  these  men,  there  was  some  talk  of 
mediation.  In  particular,  the  pastor  of  the  church  to  which 
I  have  just  referred  —  a  sincere,  fearless,  but  perhaps  not 
fully  enlightened  man  —  seized  gladly  upon  the  occasion  of 
York's  liberality  to  attempt  to  reunite  the  former  partners. 
He  preached  an  earnest  sermon  on  the  abstract  sinfulness  of 
discord  and  rancor.  But  the  excellent  sermons  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Daws  were  directed  to  an  ideal  congregation  that  did 
not  exist  at  Sandy  Bar,  —  a  congregation  of  beings  of  un- 
mixed vices  and  virtues,  of  single  impulses,  and  perfectly 
logical  motives,  of  preternatural  simplicity,  of  childlike 
faith,  and  grown-up  responsibilities.  As  unfortunately  the 
people  who  actually  attended  Mr.  Daws's  church  were  mainly 
very  human,  somewhat  artful,  more  self -excusing  than 
self -accusing,  rather  good-natured,  and  decidedly  weak,  they 


8  THE   ILIAD   OF  SANDY   BAB 

quietly  shed  that  portion  of  the  sermon  which  referred  to 
themselves,  and  accepting  York  and  Scott  —  who  were 
both  in  defiant  attendance  —  as  curious  examples  of  those 
ideal  beings  above  referred  to,  felt  a  certain  satisfaction  — 
which,  I  fear,  was  not  altogether  Christian-like  —  in  their 
"  raking-down."  If  Mr.  Daws  expected  York  and  Scott  to 
shake  hands  after  the  sermon,  he  was  disappointed.  But 
he  did  not  relax  his  purpose.  With  that  quiet  fearlessness 
and  determination  which  had  won  for  him  the  respect  of 
men  who  were  too  apt  to  regard  piety  as  synonymous  with 
effeminacy,  he  attacked  Scott  in  his  own  house.  What  he 
said  has  not  been  recorded,  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it  was 
part  of  his  sermon.  When  he  had  concluded,  Scott  looked 
at  him,  not  unkindly,  over  the  glasses  of  his  bar,  and  said, 
less  irreverently  than  the  words  might  convey,  "  Young 
man,  I  rather  like  your  style  ;  but  when  you  know  York 
and  me  as  well  as  you  do  God  Almighty,  it  '11  be  time  to 
talk." 

And  so  the  feud  progressed  ;  and  so,  as  in  more  illus- 
trious examples,  the  private  and  personal  enmity  of  two 
representative  men  led  gradually  to  the  evolution  of  some 
crude,  half-expressed  principle  or  belief.  It  was  not  long 
before  it  was  made  evident  that  those  beliefs  were  identical 
with  certain  broad  principles  laid  down  by  the  founders  of 
the  American  Constitution,  as  expounded  by  the  statesmanlike 
A.,  or  were  the  fatal  quicksands  on  which  the  ship  of  state 
might  be  wrecked,  warningly  pointed  out  by  the  eloquent 
B.  The  practical  result  of  all  which  was  the  nomination  of 
York  and  Scott  to  represent  the  opposite  factions  of  Sandy 
Bar  in  legislative  councils. 

For  some  weeks  past  the  voters  of  Sandy  Bar  and  the 
adjacent  camps  had  been  called  upon,  in  large  type,  to 
"  RALLY  !  "  In  vain  the  great  pines  at  the  cross-roads  — 
whose  trunks  were  compelled  to  bear  this  and  other  legends 


THE   ILIAD   OF    SANDY    BAR  9 

—  moaned  and  protested  from  their  windy  watch-towers. 
But  one  day.  with  fife  and  drum  and  flaming  transparency, 
a  procession  filed  into  the  triangular  grove  at  the  head  of 
the  gulch.  The  meeting  was  called  to  order  by  Colonel 
Starbottle,  who,  having  once  enjoyed  legislative  functions, 
ttnd  being  vaguely  known  as  "  war-horse,"  was  considered  to 
oe  a  valuable  partisan  of  York.  He  concluded  an  appeal 
for  his  friend  with  an  enunciation  of  principles,  interspersed 
with  one  or  two  anecdotes  so  gratuitously  coarse  that  the 
very  pines  might  have  been  moved  to  pelt  him  with  their 
cast-off  cones  as  he  stood  there.  But  he  created  a  laugh,  on 
which  his  candidate  rode  into  popular  notice  ;  and  when 
York  rose  to  speak,  he  was  greeted  with  cheers.  But,  to 
the  general  astonishment,  the  new  speaker  at  once  launched 
into  bitter  denunciation  of  his  rival.  He  not  only  dwelt 
upon  Scott's  deeds  and  example  as  known  to  Sandy  Bar, 
but  spoke  of  facts  connected  with  his  previous  career 
hitherto  unknown  to  his  auditors.  To  great  precision  of 
epithet  and  directness  of  statement,  the  speaker  added  the 
fascination  of  revelation  and  exposure.  The  crowd  cheered, 
yelled,  and  were  delighted ;  but  when  this  astounding 
philippic  was  concluded,  there  was  a  unanimous  call  for 
"  Scott !  "  Colonel  Starbottle  would  have  resisted  this 
manifest  impropriety,  but  in  vain.  Partly  from  a  crude 
sense  of  justice,  partly  from  a  meaner  craving  for  excitement, 
the  assemblage  was  inflexible  ;  and  Scott  was  dragged, 
pushed,  and  pulled  upon  the  platform;  As  his  frowsy  head 
and  unkempt  beard  appeared  above  the  railing,  it  was 
evident  that  he  was  drunk.  But  it  was  also  evident,  before 
he  opened  his  lips,  that  the  orator  of  Sandy  Bar  —  the  one 
man  who  could  touch  their  vagabond  sympathies  (perhaps 
because  he  was  not  above  appealing  to  them)  —  stood  before 
them.  A  consciousness  of  this  power  lent  a  certain  dignity 
to  his  figure, .and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  his  very  phy- 
sical condition  impress?"1  *hem  as  a  kind  of  regal  unberdinp 


JO  THE   ILIAD    OF   SANDY    BAR 

and  large  condescension.  Howbeit,  when  this  unexpected 
Hector  arose  from  this  ditch,  York's  myrmidons  trembled. 
"  There  's  naught,  gentlemen,"  said  Scott,  leaning  forward 
on  the  railing,  —  "  there  's  naught  as  that  man  hez  said  as 
is  n't  true.  I  was  run  outer  Cairo ;  I  did  belong  to  the 
Regulators;  I  did  desert  from  the  army;  I  did  leave  a 
wife  in  Kansas.  But  thar's  one  thing  he  didn't  charge 
me  with,  and  maybe  he 's  forgotten.  For  three  years, 
gentlemen,  I  was  that  man's  pardner !  "  Whether  he 
intended  to  say  more,  I  cannot  tell  ;  a  burst  of  applause 
artistically  rounded  and  enforced  the  climax,  and  virtually 
elected  the  speaker.  That  fall  he  went  to  Sacramento, 
York  went  abroad,  and  for  the  first  time  in  many  years 
distance  and  a  new  atmosphere  isolated  the  old  antagonists. 

With  little  of  change  in  the  green  wood,  gray  rock,  and 
yellow  river,  but  with  much  shifting  of  human  landmarks 
and  new  faces  in  its  habitations,  three  years  passed  over 
Sandy  Bar.  The  two  men,  once  so  identified  with  its 
character,  seemed  to  have  been  quite  forgotten.  "  You 
will  never  return  to  Sandy  Bar,"  said  Miss  Folinsbee,  the 
"  Lily  of  Poverty  Flat,"  on  meeting  York  in  Paris,  "  for 
Sandy  Bar  is  no  more.  They  call  it  Kiverside  now ;  and 
the  new  town  is  built  higher  up  on  the  river  bank.  By  the 
bye, '  Jo '  says  that  Scott  has  won  his  suit  about  the  '  Amity 
Claim/  and  that  he  lives  in  the  old  cabin,  and  is  drunk  half 
his  time.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  added  the  lively  lady, 
as  a  flush  crossed  York's  sallow  cheek ;  "  but,  bless  me,  I 
really  thought  that  old  grudge  was  made  up.  I  'm  sure  it 
ought  to  be." 

It  was  three  months  after  this  conversation,  and  a  pleasant 
summer  evening,  that  the  Poverty  Flat  coach  drew  up  be- 
fore the  veranda  of  the  Union  Hotel  at  Sandy  Bar.  Among 
its  passengers  was  one,  apparently  a  stranger,  in  the  local 
distinction  of  well-fitting  clothes  and  closely  shaven  face, 
who  demanded  a  private  room  and  retired  early  to  rest 


THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY    BAR  11 

But  before  sunrise  next  morning  he  arose,  and,  drawing 
some  clothes  from  his  carpet-bag,  proceeded  to  array  himself 
in  a  pair  of  white  duck  trousers,  a  white  duck  overshirt, 
and  straw  hat.  When  his  toilet  was  completed,  he  tied  a 
red  bandana  handkerchief  in  a  loop  and  threw  it  loosely 
over  his  shoulders.  The  transformation  was  complete.  As 
he  crept  softly  down  the  stairs  and  stepped  into  the  road, 
no  one  would  have  detected  in  him  the  elegant  stranger  of 
the  previous  night,  and  but  few  have  recognized  the  face 
and  figure  of  Henry  York,  of  Sandy  Bar. 

In  the  uncertain  light  of  that  early  hour,  and  in  the 
change  that  had  come  over  the  settlement,  he  had  to  pause 
for  a  moment  to  recall  where  he  stood.  The  Sandy  Bar  of 
his  recollection  lay  below  him,  nearer  the  river ;  the  build- 
ings around  him  were  of  later  date  and  newer  fashion.  As 
he  strode  toward  the  river,  he  noticed  here  a  schoolhouse 
and  there  a  church.  A  little  farther  on,  the  "  Sunny 
South"  came  in  view,  transformed  into  a  restaurant,  its 
gilding  faded  and  its  paint  rubbed  off.  He  now  knew 
where  he  was;  and  running  briskly  down  a  declivity, 
crossed  a  ditch,  and  stood  upon  the  lower  boundary  of  the 
"  Amity  Claim." 

The  gray  mist  was  rising  slowly  from  the  river,  clinging 
to  the  tree-tops  and  drifting  up  the  mountain-side  until  it 
was  caught  among  these  rocky  altars,  and  held  a  sacrifice  to 
the  ascending  sun.  At  his  feet  the  earth,  cruelly  gashed 
and  scarred  by  his  forgotten  engines,  had,  since  the  old 
days,  put  on  a  show  of  greenness  here  and  there,  and  now 
smiled  forgivingly  tip  at  him,  as  if  things  were  not  so  bad 
after  all.  A  few  birds  were  bathing  in  the  ditch  with  a 
pleasant  suggestion  of  its  being  a  new  and  special  provision 
of  Nature,  and  a  hare  ran  into  an  inverted  sluice-box  as  he 
approached,  as  if  it  were  put  there  for  that  purpose. 

He  had  not  yet  dared  to  look  in  a  certain  direction. 
But  the  sun  was  now  high  enough  to  paint  the  little  emi- 


12  THE    ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR 

nence  on  which  the  cabin  stood.  In  spite  of  his  self-control, 
his  heart  beat  faster  as  he  raised  his  eyes  toward  it.  Its 
window  and  door  were  closed,  no  smoke  came  from  its  adobe 
chimney,  but  it  was  else  unchanged.  When  within  a  few 
yards  of  it,  he  picked  up  a  broken  shovel,  and  shouldering 
it  with  a  smile,  he  strode  toward  the  door  and  knocked. 
There  was  no  sound  from  within.  The  smile  died  upon  his 
lips  as  he  nervously  pushed  the  door  open. 

A  figure  started  up  angrily  and  came  toward  him,  —  a 
figure  whose  bloodshot  eyes  suddenly  fixed  into  a  vacant 
stare,  whose  arms  were  at  first  outstretched  and  then  thrown 
up  in  warning  gesticulation,  —  a  figure  that  suddenly  gasped, 
choked,  and  then  fell  forward  in  a  fit. 

But  before  he  touched  the  ground,  York  had  him  out 
into  the  open  air  and  sunshine.  In  the  struggle,  both  fell 
and  rolled  over  on  the  ground.  But  the  next  moment  York 
was  sitting  up,  holding  the  convulsed  frame  of  his  former 
partner  on  his  knee,  and  wiping  the  foam  from  his  inarticu- 
late lips.  Gradually  the  tremor  became  less  frequent  and 
then  ceased,  and  the  strong  man  lay  unconscious  in  his 
arms. 

For  some  moments  York  held  him  quietly  thus,  looking 
in  his  face.  Afar,  the  stroke  of  a  woodman's  axe  —  a  mere 
phantom  of  sound  —  was  all  that  broke  the  stillness.  High 
up  the  mountain,  a  wheeling  hawk  hung  breathlessly  above 
them.  And  then  came  voices,  and  two  men  joined  them. 

"  A  fight  ?  "  No,  a  fit ;  and  would  they  help  him  bring 
the  sick  man  to  the  hotel  ? 

And  there  for  a  week  the  stricken  partner  lay,  uncon- 
scious of  aught  but  the  visions  wrought  by  disease  and  fear. 
On  the  eighth  day  at  sunrise  he  rallied,  and  opening  his 
eyes,  looked  upon  York  and  pressed  his  hand  ;  and  then  he 
spoke :  — 

"And  it 's  you.     I  thought  it  was  only  whiskey." 

York  replied  by  only  taking  both  of  his  hands,  boyishly 


THE    ILIAD   OF   SANDY    BAR  13 

working  them  backward  and  forward,  as  his  elbow  rested  on 
the  bed,  witli  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  And  you  've  been  abroad.      How  did  you  like  Paris  ?  " 

"  So,  so  !     How  did  you  like  Sacramento  ?  " 

il  Bully  !  " 

And  that  was  all  they  could  think  to  say.  Presently 
Scott  opened  his  eyes  again. 

11 1  'm  mighty  weak." 

"  You  '11  get  better  soon." 

"Xot  much." 

A  long  silence  followed,  in  which  they  could  hear  the 
sounds  of  wood-chopping,  and  that  Sandy  Bar  was  already 
astir  for  the  coming  day.  Then  Scott  slowly  and  with 
difficulty  turned  his  face  to  York  and  said, — 

"  I  might  hev  killed  you  once." 

"  I  wish  you  had." 

They  pressed  each  other's  hands  again,  but  Scott's  grasp 
was  evidently  failing.  He  seemed  to  summon  his  energies 
for  a  special  effort. 

"  Old  man  !  " 

"  Old  chap." 

"  Closer !  " 

York  bent  his  head  toward  the  slowly  fading  face. 

"  Do  ye  mind  that  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

A  gleam  of  fun  slid  into  the  corner  of  Scott's  blue  eye  as 
he  whispered, — 

"  Old  man,  thar  was  too  much  saleratus  in  that  bread  !  " 

It  is  said  that  these  were  his  last  words.  For  when  the 
sun,  which  had  so  often  gone  down  upon  the  idle  wrath 
of  these  foolish  men,  looked  again  upon  them  reunited,  it 
saw  the  hand  of  Scott  fall  cold  and  irresponsive  from  the 
yearning  clasp  of  his  former  partner,  and  it  knew  that  the 
feud  of  Sandy  Bar  was  at  an  end. 


ME.    THOMPSON'S  PKODIGAL 

WE  all  knew  that  Mr.  Thompson  was  looking  for  his 
«on,  and  a  pretty  bad  one  at  that.  That  he  was  coming  to 
California  for  this  sole  object  was  no  secret  to  his  fellow- 
passengers  ;  and  the  physical  peculiarities  as  well  as  the 
moral  weaknesses  of  the  missing  prodigal  were  made  equally 
plain  to  us  through  the  frank  volubility  of  the  parent. 
"  You  was  speaking  of  a  young  man  which  was  hung  at  Red 
Dog  for  sluice-robbing,"  said  Mr.  Thompson  to  a  steerage 
passenger  one  day  ;  "  be  you  aware  of  the  color  of  his  eyes  ?  " 
« Black,"  responded  the  passenger.  "  Ah  !  "  said  Mr. 
Thompson,  referring  to  some  mental  memoranda,  "  Char-les's 
eyes  was  blue."  He  then  walked  away.  Perhaps  it  was 
from  this  unsympathetic  mode  of  inquiry,  perhaps  it  was 
from  that  AVestern  predilection  to  take  a  humorous  view  of 
any  principle  or  sentiment  persistently  brought  before  them, 
that  Mr.  Thompson's  quest  was  the  subject  of  some  satire 
among  the  passengers.  A  gratuitous  advertisement  of  the 
missing  Charles,  addressed  to  "Jailers  and  Guardians," 
circulated  privately  among  them  ;  everybody  remembered  to 
have  met  Charles  under  distressing  circumstances.  Yet  it 
is  but  due  to  my  countrymen  to  state  that  when  it  was  known 
that  Thompson  had  embarked  seme  wealth  in  this  visionary 
project,  but  little  of  this  satire  found  its  way  to  his  ears, 
and  nothing  was  uttered  in  his  hearing  that  might  bring  a 
pang  to  a  father's  heart  or  imperil  a  possible  pecuniary  ad- 
vantage of  the  satirist.  Indeed,  Mr.  Bracy  Tibbets'  jocular 
proposition  to  form  a  joint-stock  company  to  "  prospect  "  for 
the  missing  youth  received  at  one  time  quite  serious  enter- 
tainment. 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL  15 

Perhaps  to  superficial  criticism  Mr.  Thompson's  nature 
was  not  picturesque  nor  lovable.  His  history,  as  imparted 
at  dinner  one  day  by  himself,  was  practical  even  in  its 
singularity.  After  a  hard  and  willful  youth  and  maturity, 
in  which  he  had  buried  a  broken-spirited  wife  and  driven 
his  son  to  sea,  he  suddenly  experienced  religion.  "  I  got 
it  in  New  Orleans  in  '59,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  with  the 
general  suggestion  of  referring  to  an  epidemic.  "  Enter  ye 
the  narrer  gate.  Parse  me  the  beans."  Perhaps  this  prac- 
tical quality  upheld  him  in  his  apparently  hopeless  search. 
He  had  no  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  his  runaway  son  ; 
indeed,  scarcely  a  proof  of  his  present  existence.  From  his 
indifferent  recollection  of  the  boy  of  twelve  he  now  expected 
to  identify  the  man  of  twenty-five. 

It  would  seem  that  he  was  successful.  How  he  succeeded 
was  one  of  the  few  things  he  did  not  tell.  There  are,  I 
believe,  two  versions  of  the  story.  One,  that  Mr.  Thompson, 
visiting  a  hospital,  discovered  his  son  by  reason  of  a  peculiar 
hymn,  chanted  by  the  sufferer  in  a  delirious  dream  of  his 
boyhood.  This  version,  giving  as  it  did  wide  range  to  the 
finer  feelings  of  the  heart,  was  quite  popular ;  and  as  told 
by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gushington  on  his  return  from  his  Cali- 
fornia tour,  never  failed  to  satisfy  an  audience.  The  other 
was  less  simple,  and,  as  I  shall  adopt  it  here,  deserves  more 
elaboration. 

It  was  after  Mr.  Thompson  had  given  up  searching  for 
his  son  among  the  living,  and  had  taken  to  the  examination 
of  cemeteries  and  a  careful  inspection  of  the  "  cold  hie 
jacets  of  the  dead."  At  this  time  he  was  a  frequent  visi- 
tor of  "  Lone  Mountain,"  a  dreary  hill-top,  bleak  enough 
in  its  original  isolation,  and  bleaker  for  the  white-faced 
marbles  by  which  San  Francisco  anchored  her  departed 
citizens,  and  kept  them  down  in  a  shifting  sand  that  refused 
to  cover  them,  and  against  a  fierce  and  persistent  wind  that 
strove  to  blow  them  utterly  away.  Against  this  wind  the 


16  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL 

old  man  opposed  a  will  quite  as  persistent,  a  grizzled  hard 
face,  and  a  tall  crape-bound  hat  drawn  tightly  over  his  eyes, 

and  so  spent  days  in  reading  the  mortuary  inscriptions 

audibly  to  himself.  The  frequency  of  Scriptural  quotation 
pleased  him,  and  he  was  fond  of  corroborating  them  by  a 
pocket  Bible.  "  That 's  from  Psalms,"  he  said  one  day  to 
an  adjacent  gravedigger.  The  man  made  no  reply.  Not 
at  all  rebuffed,  Mr.  Thompson  at  once  slid  down  into  the 
open  grave  with  a  more  practical  inquiry,  "  Did  you  ever, 
in  your  profession,  come  across  Char-les  Thompson  ? " 
"Thompson  be  d — d!^'  said  the  gravedigger,  with  great 
directness.  "  Which,  if  he  had  n't  religion,  I  think  he  is,'' 
responded  the  old  man,  as  he  clambered  out  of  the  grave. 

It  was  perhaps  on  this  occasion  that  Mr.  Thompson 
stayed  later  than  usual.  As  he  turned  his  face  toward  the 
city,  lights  were  beginning  to  twinkle  ahead,  and  a  fierce 
wind,  made  visible  by  fog,  drove  him  forward,  or,  lying  in 
wait,  charged  him  angrily  from  the  corners  of  deserted  sub- 
urban streets.  It  was  at  one  of  these  corners  that  something 
else,  quite  as  indistinct  and  malevolent,  leaped  upon  him 
with  an  oath,  a  presented  pistol,  and  a  demand  for  money. 
But  it  was  met  by  a  will  of  iron  and  a  grip  of  steel.  The 
assailant  and  assailed  rolled  together  on  the  ground.  But 
the  next  moment  the  old  man  was  erect ;  one  hand  grasp- 
ing the  captured  pistol,  the  other  clutching  at  arm's  length 
the  throat  of  a  figure,  surly,  youthful,  and  savage. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  setting  his  thin  lips 
together,  "  what  might  be  your  name  ?  " 

"  Thompson  !  " 

The  old  man's  hand  slid  from  the  throat  to  the  arm  of 
his  prisoner  without  relaxing  its  firmness. 

"  Char-les  Thompson,  come  with  me,"  he  said  presently, 
and  marched  his  captive  to  the  hotel.  What  took  place 
there  has  not  transpired,  but  it  was  known  the  next  morn 
ing  that  Mr.  Thompson  had  found  his  son. 


MR.   THOMPSON'S   PRODIGAL  17 

It  is  proper  to  add  to  the  above  improbable  story,  that 
there  was  nothing  in  the  young  man's  appearance  or  man- 
ners to  justify  it.  Grave,  reticent,  and  handsome,  devoted 
to  his  newly  found  parent,  he  assumed  the  emoluments  and 
responsibilities  of  his  new  condition  with  a  certain  serious 
ease  that  more  nearly  approached  that  which  San  Francisco 
society  lacked  and  —  rejected.  Some  chose  to  despise  this 
quality  as  a  tendency  to  "  psalm  singing  ;  "  others  saw  in 
it  the  inherited  qualities  of  the  parent,  and  were  ready  to 
prophesy  for  the  son  the  same  hard  old  age.  But  all  agreed 
that  it  was  not  inconsistent  with  the  habits  of  money- 
getting  for  which  father  and  son  were  respected. 

And  yet  the  old  man  did  not  seem  to  be  happy.  Per- 
haps it  was  that  the  consummation  of  his  wishes  left  him 
without  a  practical  mission  ;  perhaps  —  and  it  is  the  more 
probable  —  he  had  little  love  for  the  son  he  had  regained. 
The  obedience  he  exacted  was  freely  given,  the  reform  he 
had  set  his  heart  upon  was  complete ;  and  yet  somehow  it 
did  not  seem  to  please  him.  In  reclaiming  his  son  he  had 
fulfilled  all  the  requirements  that  his  religious  duty  required 
of  him,  and  yet  the  act  seemed  to  lack  sanctification.  In 
this  perplexity  he  read  again  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal 
Son,  which  he  had  long  ago  adopted  for  his  guidance,  and 
found  that  he  had  omitted  the  final  feast  of  reconciliation. 
This  seemed  to  offer  the  proper  quality  of  ceremoniousness 
in  the  sacrament  between  himself  and  his  son  and  so,  a  vear 
after  the  appearance  of  Charles,  he  set  about  giving  him  a 
party.  "Invite  everybody,  Char-les,"  he  said  dryly  ; 
"  everybody  who  knows  that  I  brought  you  out  of  the  swine- 
husks  of  iniquity  and  the  company  of  harlots,  and  bid  them 
eat,  drink,  and  be  merry." 

Perhaps  the  old  man  had  another  reason,  not  yet  clearly 
analyzed.  The.  fine  house  he  had  built  on  the  sandhills 
sometimes  seemed  lonely  and  bare.  He  often  found  him- 
self trying  to  reconstruct,  from  the  grave  features  c.f  Charles, 


18  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL 

the  little  boy  whom  he  but  dimly  remembered  in  the  past, 
and  of  whom  lately  he  had  been  thinking  a  great  deal 
He  believed  this  to  be  a  sign  of  impending  old  age  and 
childishness ;  but  coming  one  day,  in  his  formal  drawing- 
room,  upon  a  child  of  one  of  the  servants,  who  had  strayed 
therein,  he  would  have  taken  him  in  his  arms,  but  the  child 
fled  from  before  his  grizzled  face.  So  that  it  seemed  emi- 
nently proper  to  invite  a  number  of  people  to  his  house, 
and  from  the  array  of  San  Francisco  maidenhood  to  select 
a  daughter-in-law.  And  then  there  would  be  a  child  —  a 
bov,  whom  he  could  "  rare  up  "  from  the  beginning,  and 
love  —  as  he  did  not  love  Charles. 

We  were  all  at  the  party.  The  Smiths,  Joneses,  Browns, 
and  Robinsons  also  came,  in  that  fine  flow  of  animal  spirits. 
unchecked  by  any  respect  for  the  entertainer,  which  most 
of  us  are  apt  to  find  so  fascinating.  The  proceedings  would 
have  been  somewhat  riotous  but  for  the  social  position  of 
the  actors.  In  fact,  Mr.  Bracy  Tibbets,  having  naturally 
a  fine  appreciation  of  a  humorous  situation,  but  further 
impelled  by  the  bright  eyes  of  the  Jones  girls,  conducted 
himself  so  remarkably  as  to  attract  the  serious  regard  of  Mr. 
Charles  Thompson,  who  approached  him,  saying  quietly, 
"  You  look  ill,  Mr.  Tibbets ;  let  me  conduct  you  to  your 
carriage.  Eesist,  you  hound,  and  I  '11  throw  you  through 
the  window.  This  way,  please ;  the  room  is  close  and  dis- 
tressing." It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  but  a  part  of 
this  speech  was  audible  to  the  company,  and  that  the  rest 
was  not  divulged  by  Mr.  Tibbets,  who  afterwards  regretted 
the  sudden  illness  which  kept  him  from  witnessing  a  certain 
amusing  incident,  which  the  fastest  Miss  Jones  characterized 
as  the  "  richest  part  of  the  blow-out,"  and  which  I  hasten 
to  record. 

It  was  at  supper.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Thompson 
had  overlooked  much  lawlessness  in  the  conduct  of  the 
younger  people  in  his  abstract  contemplation  of  some  im- 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL  19 

pending  event.  When  the  cloth  was  removed,  he  rose  to 
his  feet  and  grimly  tapped  upon  the  table.  A  titter,  that 
broke  out  among  the  Jones  girls,  became  epidemic  on  one 
side  of  the  board.  Charles  Thompson,  from  the  foot  of 
the  table,  looked  up  in  tender  perplexity.  "  He  's  going 
to  sing  a  Doxology,"  "  He  's  going  to  pray,"  "  Silence  for 
a  speech,"  ran  round  the  room. 

"  It 's  one  year  to-day,  Christian  brothers  and  sister:. ;; 
said  Mr.  Thompson  with  grim  deliberation,  —  "  one  yerr 
to-day  since  my  son  came  home  from  eating  of  swine-husks 
and  spending  of  his  substance  on  harlots."  (The  tittering 
suddenly  ceased.)  "  Look  at  him  now.  Charles  Thomp- 
son, stand  up."  (Charles  Thompson  stood  up.)  "  One  year 
ago  to-day,  —  and  look  at  him  now." 

He  was  certainly  a  handsome  prodigal,  standing  there  in 
his  cheerful  evening-dress,  —  a  repentant  prodigal,  with  sad 
obedient  eyes  turned  upon  the  harsh  and  unsympathetic 
glance  of  his  father.  The  youngest  Miss  Smith,  from  the 
pure  depths  of  her  foolish  little  heart,  moved  unconsciously 
toward  him. 

"  It 's  fifteen  years  ago  since  he  left  my  house,"  said  Mr. 
Thompson,  "  a  rovier  and  a  prodigal.  I  was  myself  a  man 
of  sin,  0  Christian  friends,  —  a  man  of  wrath  and  bitter- 
ness " —  ("Amen,"  from  the  eldest  Miss  Smith)  —  "but 
praise  be  God,  I've  fled  the  wrath  to  come.  It's  five 
years  ago  since  I  got  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding. 
Have  you  got  it,  friends  ?  "  (A  general  sub-chorus  of 
"  Xo,  no,"  from  the  girls,  and,  "  Pass  the  word  for  it," 
from  Midshipman  Coxe,  of  the  U.  S.  sloop  Wethersfield.) 
"  Knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  to  you. 

"  And  when  I  found  the  error  of  my  ways,  and  the 
preciousness  of  grace,"  continued  Mr.  Thompson,  "  I  came 
to  give  it  to  my  son.  By  sea  and  land  I  sought  him  far, 
and  fainted  not.  I  did  not  wait  for  him  to  come  to  me1 
which  the  same  I  might  have  done,  and  justified  myself  by 


20  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL 

the  Book  of  books,  but  I  sought  him  out  among  his  husks, 
and  "  (the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost,  in  the  rustling 
withdrawal  of  the  ladies).  "  Works,  Christian  friends,  is 
my  motto.  By  their  works  shall  ye  know  them,  and  there 
is  mine." 

The  particular  and  accepted  work  to  which  Mr.  Thomp- 
son was  alluding  had  turned  quite  pale,  and  was  looking 
fixedly  toward  an  open  door  leading  to  the  veranda,  lately 
filled  by  gaping  servants,  and  now  the  scene  of  some  vague 
tumult.  As  the  noise  continued,  a  man,  shabbily  dressed 
and  evidently  in  liquor,  broke  through  the  opposing  guar- 
dians and  staggered  into  the  room.  The  transition  from 
the  fog  and  darkness  without  to  the  glare  and  heat  within 
evidently  dazzled  and  stupefied  him.  He  removed  his  bat- 
tered hat,  and  passed  it  once  or  twice  before  his  eyes,  as  he 
steadied  himself,  but  unsuccessfully,  by  the  back  of  a  chair. 
Suddenly  his  wandering  glance  fell  upon  the  pale  face  of 
Charles  Thompson ;  and  with  a  gleam  of  childlike  recog- 
nition, and  a  weak  falsetto  laugh,  he  darted  forward,  caught 
at  the  table,  upset  the  glasses,  and  literally  fell  upon  the 
'Drodigal's  breast. 

"  Sha'ly  !  yo'  d — d  ol'  scoun'rel,  hoo  rar  ye  !  " 

"  Hush !  —  sit  down  !  —  hush  !  "  said  Charles  Thomp- 
son, hurriedly  endeavoring  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
embrace  of  his  unexpected  guest. 

"  Look  at  'm  !  "  continued  the  stranger,  unheeding  the 
admonition,  but  suddenly  holding  the  unfortunate  Charles 
at  arm's  length,  in  loving  and  undisguised  admiration  of 
his  festive  appearance.  "  Look  at  'm  !  Ain't  he  nasty  ? 
Sha'ls  I  'm  prow  of  yer  !  " 

"  Leave  the  house  !  "  said  Mr.  Thompson,  rising,  with  a 
dangerous  look  in  his  cold  gray  eye.  "  Char-les,  how  dare 
you  ?  " 

"  Simmer  down,  ole  man  !  Sha'ls,  who  's  th'  ol'  bloat  ? 
Eh  ?  " 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL  21 

"  Hush,  man  ;  here,  take  this  !  "  With  nervous  hands, 
Charles  Thompson  filled  a  glass  with  liquor.  "  Drink  it 
and  go  —  until  to-morrow  —  ar,y  time,  but  —  leave  us  !  — 
go  now  !  "  But  even  then,  ere  the  miserable  wretch  could 
drink,  the  old  man,  pale  with  passion,  was  upon  him. 
Half  carrying  him  in  his  powerful  arms,  half  dragging 
him  through  the  circling  crowd  of  frightened  guests,  he 
had  reached  the  door,  swung  open  by  the  waiting  servants, 
when  Charles  Thompson  started  from  a  seeming  stupor, 
crying  — 

""  Stop  ! " 

The  old  man  stopped.  Through  the  open  door  the  fog 
and  wind  drove  chilly.  "  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  he 
asked,  turning  a  baleful  face  on  Charles. 

"  Nothing  —  but  stop  —  for  God's  sake.  Wait  till  to- 
morrow, but  not  to-night.  Do  not,  I  implore  you  —  do 
this  thing." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  the  young  man's 
voice,  something,  perhaps,  in  the  contact  of  the  struggling 
wretch  he  held  in  his  powerful  arms ;  but  a  dim,  indefinite 
fear  took  possession  of  the  old  man's  heart.  "  Who,"  he 
whispered  hoarsely,  "  is  this  man  ?  " 

Charles  did  not  answer. 

"  Stand  back,  there,  all  of  you,"  thundered  Mr.  Thomp- 
son, to  the  crowding  guests  around  him.  "  Char-les  —  come 
here  !  I  command  you  —  I  —  I  —  I  —  beg  you  —  tell  me 
who  is  this  man  ?  " 

Only  two  persons  heard  the  answer  that  came  faintly 
from  the  lips  of  Charles  Thompson  — 

"  YOUR  SON." 

When  day  broke  over  the  bleak  sandhills,  the  guests  had 
departed  from  Mr.  Thompson's  banquet-hall.  The  lights 
still  burned  dimly  and  coldly  in  the  deserted  rooms,  —  de- 
serted by  all  but  three  figures,  that  huddled  together  in  the 
chill  drawing-room,  as  if  for  warmth.  One  lay  in  drunken 


22  ME.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL 

slumber  on  a  couch ;  at  his  feet  sat  he  who  had  been  known 
as  Charles  Thompson;  and  beside  them,  haggard  and 
shrunken  to  half  his  size,  bowed  the  figure  of  Mr.  Thomp- 
son, his  gray  eye  fixed,  his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  and  his 
hands  clasped  over  his  ears,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sad,  en- 
treating voice  that  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

"God  knows,  I  did  not  set  about  to  willfully  deceive. 
The  name  I  gave  that  night  was  the  first  that  came  into  my 
thought,  —  the  name  of  one  whom  I  thought  dead,  —  the 
dissolute  companion  of  my  shame.  And  when  you  ques- 
tioned further,  I  used  the  knowledge  that  I  gained  from 
him  to  touch  your  heart  to  set  me  free ;  only,  I  swear,  for 
that !  But  when  you  told  me  who  you  were,  and  I  first 
saw  the  opening  of  another  life  before  me  —  then  —  then  — 
O  sir,  if  I  was  hungry,  homeless,  and  reckless  when  I 
•would  have  robbed  you  of  your  gold,  I  was  heart-sick,  help- 
less, and  desperate  when  I  would  have  robbed  you  of  your 
Jove!" 

The  old  man  stirred  not.  From  his  luxurious  couch  the 
newly  found  prodigal  snored  peacefully. 

"  I  had  no  father  I  could  claim.  I  never  knew  a  home 
but  this.  I  was  tempted.  I  have  been  happy,  —  very 
happy." 

He  rose  and  stood  before  the  old  man. 

"  Do  not  fear  that  I  shall  come  between  your  son  and  his 
inheritance.  To-day  I  leave  this  place,  never  to  return. 
The  world  is  large,  sir,  and,  thanks  to  your  kindness,  I  now 
see  the  way  by  which  an  honest  livelihood  is  gained.  Good- 
by.  You  will  not  take  my  hand?  Well,  well !  Good- 
by.» 

He  turned  to  go.  But  when  he  had  reached  the  door  he 
suddenly  came  back,  and,  raising  with  both  hands  the  griz 
zled  head,  he  kissed  it  once  and  twice. 

"Char-lea!" 

There  was  no  reply. 


MR.   THOMPSON'S    PRODIGAL  23 

"  Char-les ! " 

The  old  man  rose  with  a  frightened  air,  and  tottered 
feebly  to  the  door.  It  was  open.  There  came  to  him  the 
awakened  tumult  of  a  great  city,  in  which  the  prodigal's 
footsteps  were  lost  forever. 


THE  KOMANCE  OF  MADKONO  HOLLOW 

THE  latch  on  the  garden  gate  of  the  Folinsbee  Eanch 
clicked  twice.  The  gate  itself  was  so  much  in  shadow  that 
lovely  night,  that  "  old  man  Folinsbee,"  sitting  on  his  porch, 
could  distinguish  nothing  hut  a  tall  white  hat  and  beside  it 
a  few  fluttering  ribbons,  under  the  pines  that  marked  the  en- 
trance. Whether  because  of  this  fact,  or  that  he  considered 
a  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  since  the  clicking  of  the  latch 
for  more  positive  disclosure,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  after  a 
few  moments'  hesitation  he  quietly  laid  aside  his  pipe  and 
walked  slowly  down  the  winding  path  toward  the  gate. 
At  the  Ceanothus  hedge  he  stopped  and  listened. 

There  was  not  much  to  hear.  The  hat  was  saying  to  the 
ribbons  that  it  was  a  fine  night,  and  remarking  generally 
upon  the  clear  outline  of  the  Sierras  against  the  blue-black 
sky.  The  ribbons,  it  so  appeared,  had  admired  this  all  the 
way  home,  and  asked  the  hat  if  it  had  ever  seen  anything 
half  so  lovely  as  the  moonlight  on  the  summit.  The  hat 
never  had ;  it  recalled  some  lovely  nights  in  the  South  in 
Alabama  ("  in  the  South  in  Ahlabahm"  was  the  way  the 
old  man  heard  it),  but  then  there  were  other  things  that 
made  this  night  seem  so  pleasant.  The  ribbons  could  not 
possibly  conceive  what  the  hat  could  be  thinking  about. 
At  this  point  there  was  a  pause,  of  which  Mr.  Folinsbee 
availed  himself  to  walk  very  grimly  and  craunchingly  down 
the  gravel-walk  toward  the  gate.  Then  the  hat  was  lifted, 
and  disappeared  in  the  shadow,  and  Mr.  Folinsbee  con- 
fronted only  the  half-foolish,  half-mischievous,  but  wholly 
pretty  face  of  his  daughter. 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   MADRONO   HOLLOW  25 

It  was  afterwards  known  to  Madrono  Hollow  that  sharp 
words  passed  between  "  Miss  Jo "  and  the  old  man,  and 
that  the  latter  coupled  the  names  of  one  Culpepper  Star- 
bottle  and  his  uncle,  Colonel  Starbottle,  with  certain  un- 
complimentary epithets,  and  that  Miss  Jo  retaliated  sharply. 
"  Her  father's  blood  before  her  father's  face  boiled  up  and 
proved  her  truly  of  his  race,"  quoted  the  blacksmith,  who 
leaned  toward  the  noble  verse  of  Byron.  "  She  saw  the 
old  man's  bluff  and  raised  him,"  was  the  direct  comment  of 
the  college-bred  Masters. 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  these  animadversions  proceeded 
slowly  along  the  road  to  a  point  where  the  Folinsbee  man- 
sion came  in  view,  —  a  long,  narrow,  white  building,  unpre- 
tentious, yet  superior  to  its  neighbors,  and  bearing  some 
evidences  of  taste  and  refinement  in  the  vines  that  clambered 
over  its  porch,  in  its  French  windows,  and  the  white  mus- 
lin curtains  that  kept  out  the  fierce  California  sun  by  day, 
and  were  now  touched  with  silver  in  the  gracious  moon- 
light. Culpepper  leaned  against  the  low  fence,  and  gazed 
long  and  earnestly  at  the  building.  Then  the  moonlight 
vanished  ghostlike  from  one  of  the  windows,  a  material  glow 
took  its  place,  and  a  girlish  figure,  holding  a  candle,  drew 
the  white  curtains  together.  To  Culpepper  it  was  a  vestal 
virgin  standing  before  a  hallowed  shrine ;  to  the  prosaic  ob- 
server I  fear  it  was  only  a  dark-haired  young  woman,  whose 
wicked  black  eyes  still  shone  with  unfilial  warmth.  How- 
beit,  when  the  figure  had  disappeared,  he  stepped  out 
briskly  into  the  moonlight  of  the  highroad.  Here  he  took 
off  his  distinguishing  hat  to  wipe  his  forehead,  and  the  moon 
shone  full  upon  his  face. 

It  was  not  an  unprepossessing  one,  albeit  a  trifle  too  thin 
and  lank  and  bilious  to  be  altogether  pleasant.  The  cheek- 
bones were  prominent,  and  the  black  eyes  sunken  in  their 
orbits.  Straight  black  hair  fell  slantwise  off  a  high  but 
narrow  forehead,  and  swept  part  of  a  hollow  cheek.  A  long 


26       THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW 

black  mustache  followed  the  perpendicular  curves  of  his 
mouth.  It  was  on  the  whole  a  serious,  even  Quixotic  face, 
but  at  times  it  was  relieved  by  a  rare  smile  of  such  tender 
and  even  pathetic  sweetness,  that  Miss  Jo  is  reported  to 
have  said  that,  if  it  would  only  last  through  the  ceremony, 
she  would  have  married  its  possessor  on  the  spot.  "  I  once 
told  him  so,"  added  that  shameless  young  woman  ;  "  but  the 
man  instantly  fell  into  a  settled  melancholy,  and  hasn't 
smiled  since." 

A  half  mile  below  the  Folinsbee  Ranch  the  white  road 
dipped  and  was  crossed  by  a  trail  that  ran  through  Madrono 
Hollow.  Perhaps  because  it  was  a  near  cut-off  to  the  set- 
tlement, perhaps  from  some  less  practical  reason,  Culpepper 
took  this  trail,  and  in  a  few  moments  stood  among  the  rarely 
beautiful  trees  that  gave  their  name  to  the  valley.  Even 
in  that  uncertain  light,  the  weird  beauty  of  these  harlequin 
masqueraders  was  apparent ;  their  red  trunks  —  a  blush  in 
tha  moonlight,  a  deep  blood-stain  in  the  shadow  —  stood 
out  against  the  silvery  green  foliage.  It  was  as  if  Nature 
in  some  gracious  moment  had  here  caught  and  crystallized 
the  gypsy  memories  of  the  transplanted  Spaniard,  to  cheer 
him  in  his  lonely  exile. 

As  Culpepper  entered  the  grove,  he  heard  loud  voices. 
As  he  turned  toward  a  clump  of  trees,  a  figure  so  bizarre 
and  characteristic  that  it  might  have  been  a  resident 
Daphne  — a  figure  over-dressed  in  crimson  silk  and  lace, 
with  bare  brown  arms  and  shoulders,  and  a  wreath  of 
honeysuckle  —  stepped  out  of  the  shadow.  It  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  man.  Culpepper  started.  To  come  to  the 
point  briefly,  he  recognized  in  the  man  the  features  of  his 
respected  uncle,  Colonel  Starbottle ;  in  the  female,  a  lady 
who  may  be  briefly  described  as  one  possessing  absolutely 
no  claim  to  an  introduction  to  the  polite  reader.  To  hurry 
over  equally  unpleasant  details,  both  were  evidently  undes 
the  influence  of  liquor. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW       27 

From  the  exciting  conversation  that  ensued,  Culpepper 
gathered  that  some  insult  had  been  put  upon  the  lady  at  a 
public  ball  which  she  had  attended  that  evening  ;  that  the 
Colonel,  her  escort,  had  failed  to  resent  it  with  the  sangui- 
nary completeness  that  she  desired.  I  regret  that,  even  in 
a  liberal  age,  I  may  not  record  the  exact  and  even  pictur- 
esque language  in  which  this  was  conveyed  to  her  hearers. 
Enough  that  at  the  close  of  a  fiery  peroration,  with  femi- 
nine inconsistency  she  flew  at  the  gallant  Colonel,  and 
would  have  visited  her  delayed  vengeance  upon  his  luck- 
less head,  but  for  the  prompt  interference  of  Culpepper. 
Thwarted  in  this,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  and 
then  into  unpicturesque  hysterics.  There  was  a  fine  moral 
lesson,  not  only  in  this  grotesque  performance  of  a  sex 
which  cannot  afford  to  be  grotesque,  but  in  the  ludicrous 
concern  with  which  it  inspired  the  two  men.  Culpepper, 
to  whom  woman  was  more  or  less  angelic,  was  pained  and 
sympathetic  ;  the  Colonel,  to  whom  she  was  more  or  less 
improper,  was  exceedingly  terrified  and  embarrassed.  How- 
beit  the  storm  was  soon  over,  and  after  Mistress  Dolores 
had  returned  a  little  dagger  to  its  sheath  (her  garter),  she 
quietly  took  herself  out  of  Madrono  Hollow,  and  happily 
out  of  these  pages  forever.  The  two  men,  left  to  them- 
selves, conversed  in  low  tones.  Dawn  stole  upon  them 
before  they  separated  :  the  Colonel  quite  sobered  and  in 
full  pos<5p^-?in  of  his  usual  jaunty  self-assertion ;  Culpepper 
with  a  baleful  glow  in  his  hollow  cheek,  and  in  his  dark 
eyes  a  rising  tire. 

The  next  morning  the  general  ear  of  Madrono  Hollow 
Avas  filled  with  rumors  of  the  Colonel's  mishap.  It  was 
asserted  that  he  had  been  invited  to  withdraw  his  female 
companion  from  the  floor  of  the  Assembly  Ball  at  the 
Independence  Hotel,  and  that,  failing  to  do  this,  both  were 
expelled.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  in  1854  public  opinion 
was  divided  in  regard  to  the  propriety  of  this  step,  and 


28  THE   ROMANCE   OF   MADROSfO   HOLLOW 

that  there  was  some  discussion  as  to  the  comparative  virtue 
of  the  ladies  who  were  not  expelled  ;  but  it  was  generally 
conceded  that  the  real  casus  belli  was  political.  "  Is  this  a 
dashed  Puritan  meeting  ?  "  had  asked  the  Colonel  savagely. 
"It's  no  Pike  County  shindig,"  had  responded  the  floor- 
manager  cheerfully.  "  You  're  a  Yank  !  "  had  screamed 
the  Colonel,  profanely  qualifying  the  noun.  "  Get !  you 
border  ruffian,"  was  the  reply.  Such  at  least  was  the 
substance  of  the  reports.  As,  at  that  sincere  epoch,  ex- 
pressions like  the  above  were  usually  followed  by  prompt 
action,  a  fracas  was  confidently  looked  for. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred.  Colonel  Starbottle  made 
his  appearance  next  day  upon  the  streets  with  somewhat  of 
his  usual  pomposity,  a  little  restrained  by  the  presence  of 
his  nephew,  who  accompanied  him,  and  who,  as  a  universal 
favorite,  also  exercised  some  restraint  upon  the  curious  and 
impertinent.  But  Culpepper's  face  wore  a  look  of  anxiety 
quite  at  variance  with  his  usual  grave  repose.  "  The 
Don  don't  seem  to  take  the  old  man's  set-back  kindly," 
observed  the  sympathizing  blacksmith.  "  P'r'aps  he  was 
sweet  on  Dolores  himself,"  suggested  the  skeptical  express- 
man. 

It  was  a  bright  morning,  a  week  after  this  occurrence, 
that  Miss  Jo  Folinsbee  stepped  from  her  garden  into  the 
road.  This  time  the  latch  did  not  click  as  she  cautiously 
closed  the  gate  behind  her.  After  a  moment's  irresolu- 
tion, which  would  have  been  awkward  but  that  it  was 
charmingly  employed,  after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  in 
adjusting  a  bow  under  a  dimpled  but  rather  prominent 
chin,  and  in  pulling  down  the  fingers  of  a  neatly  fitting 
glove,  she  tripped  toward  the  settlement.  Small  wonder 
that  a  passing  teamster  drove  six  mules  into  the  wayside 
ditch  and  imperiled  his  load  to  keep  the  dust  from  her 
spotless  garments ;  small  wonder  that  the  "  Lightning  Ex- 
press" withheld  its  speed  and  flash  to  let  her  pass,  and 


THE   KOMANCE    OF   MADKOSfO   HOLLOW  29 

that  the  expressman,  who  had  never  been  known  to  ex- 
change more  than  rapid  monosyllables  with  his  fellow-man, 
gazed  after  her  with  breathless  admiration.  For  she  was 
certainly  attractive.  In  a  country  where  the  ornamental 
sex  followed  the  example  of  youthful  Nature,  and  were 
prone  to  overdress  and  glaring  efflorescence,  Miss  Jo's 
simple  and  tasteful  raiment  added  much  to  the  physical 
charm  of,  if  it  did  not  actually  suggest  a  sentiment  to,  her 
presence.  It  is  said  that  Euchre-deck  Billy,  working  in 
the  gulch  at  the  crossing,  never  saw  Miss  Folinsbee  pass 
but  that  he  always  remarked  apologetically  to  his  partner, 
that  "  he  believed  he  must  write  a  letter  home."  Even 
Bill  Masters,  who  saw  her  in  Paris  presented  to  the  favor- 
able criticism  of  that  most  fastidious  man,  the  late  Emperor, 
said  that  she  was  stunning,  but  a  big  discount  on  what  she 
was  at  Madrono  Hollow. 

It  was  still  early  morning,  but  the  sun,  with  California 
extravagance,  had  already  begun  to  beat  hotly  on  the  little 
chip  hat  and  blue  ribbons,  and  Miss  Jo  was  obliged  to . 
seek  the  shade  of  a  bypath.  Here  she  received  the  timid 
advances  of  a  vagabond  yellow  dog  graciously,  until,  em- 
boldened by  his  success,  he  insisted  upon  accompanying 
her,  and,  becoming  slobberingly  demonstrative,  threatened 
her  spotless  skirt  with  his  dusty  paws,  when  she  drove  him 
from  her  with  some  slight  acerbity,  and  a  stone  which 
haply  fell  within  fifty  feet  of  its  destined  mark.  Having 
thus  proved  her  ability  to  defend  herself,  with  character- 
istic inconsistency  she  took  a  small  panic,  and,  gathering 
her  white  skirts  in  one  hand,  and  holding  the  brim  of  her 
hat  over  her  eyes  with  the  other,  she  ran  swiftly  at  least  a 
hundred  yards  before  she  stopped.  Then  she  began  pick- 
ing some  ferns  and  a  few  wild  flowers  still  spared  to  the 
withered  fields,  and  then  a  sudden  distrust  of  her  small 
ankles  seized  her,  and  she  inspected  them  narrowly  for 
those  burrs  and  bugs  and  snakes  which  are  supposed  to  lie 


30       THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW 

in  wait  for  helpless  womanhood.  Then  she  plucked  some 
golden  heads  of  wild  oats,  and  with  a  sudden  inspiration 
placed  them  in  her  black  hair,  and  then  came  quite  uncon- 
sciously upon  the  trail  leading  to  Madrono  Hollow. 

Here  she  hesitated.  Before  her  ran  the  little  trail. 
vanishing  at  last  into  the  bosky  depths  below.  The  sun 
was  very  hot.  She  must  be  very  far  from  home.  .  Why 
should  she  not  rest  awhile  under  the  shade  of  a  madrono  ? 

She  answered  these  questions  by  going  there  at  once. 
After  thoroughly  exploring  the  grove,  and  satisfying  herself 
that  it  contained  no  other  living  human  creature,  she  sat 
down  under  one  of  the  largest  trees  with  a  satisfactory  little 
sigh.  Miss  Jo  loved  the  madrono.  It  was  a  cleanly  tree  ; 
no  dust  ever  lay  upon  its  varnished  leaves ;  its  immaculate 
shade  never  was  known  to  harbor  grub  or  insect. 

She  looked  up  at  the  rosy  arms  interlocked  and  arched 
above  her  head.  She  looked  down  at  the  delicate  ferns 
and  cryptogams  at  her  feet.  Something  glittered  at  the 
root  of  the  tree.  She  picked  it  up ;  it  was  a  bracelet. 
She  examined  it  carefully  for  cipher  or  inscription ;  there 
was  none.  She  could  not  resist  a  natural  desire  to  clasp  it 
on  her  arm,  and  to  survey  it  from  that  advantageous  view- 
point. This  absorbed  her  attention  for  some  moments ; 
and  when  she  looked  up  again  she  beheld  at  a  little  distance 
Culpepper  Starbottle. 

He  was  standing  where  he  had  halted,  with  instinctive 
delicacy,  on  first  discovering  her.  Indeed,  he  had  even 
deliberated  whether  he  ought  not  to  go  away  without  dis- 
turbing her.  But  some  fascination  held  him  to  the  spot. 
Wonderful  power  of  humanity  !  Far  beyond  jutted  an  out- 
lying spur  of  the  Sierra,  vast,  compact,  and  silent.  Scarcely 
a  hundred  yards  away,  a  league-long  chasm  dropped  its 
sheer  walls  of  granite  a  thousand  feet.  On  every  side  rose 
up  the  serried  ranks  of  pine-trees,  in  whose  close-set  files 
centuries  of  storm  and  change  had  wrought  no  breach. 


THE   ROMANCE   OF   MADRONO   HOLLOW  31 

Yet  all  this  seemed  to  Culpepper  to  have  been  planned  by 
an  alhvise  Providence  as  the  natural  background  to  the 
figure  of  a  pretty  girl  in  a  yellow  dress. 

Although  Miss  Jo  had  confidently  expected  to  meet 
Culpepper  somewhere  in  her  ramble,  now  that  he  came 
upon  her  suddenly,  she  felt  disappointed  and  embarrassed. 
His  manner,  too,  was  more  than  usually  grave  and  serious, 
and  more  than  ever  seemed  to  jar  upon  that  audacious 
levity  which  was  this  giddy  girl's  power  and  security  in  a 
society  where  all  feeling  was  dangerous.  As  he  approached 
her  she  rose  to  her  feet,  but  almost  before  she  knew  it  he 
had  taken  her  hand  and  drawn  her  to  a  seat  beside  him. 
This  was  not  what  Miss  Jo  had  expected,  but  nothing  is  so 
difficult  to  predicate  as  the  exact  preliminaries  of  a  declara- 
tion of  love. 

What  did  Culpepper  say  ?  Nothing,  I  fear,  that  will 
add  anything  to  the  wisdom  of  the  reader ;  nothing,  I  fear, 
that  Miss  Jo  had  not  heard  substantially  from  other  lips 
before.  But  there  was  a  certain  conviction,  fire-speed,  and 
fury  in  the  manner  that  was  deliciously  novel  to  the  young 
lady.  It  was  certainly  something  to  be  courted  in  the 
nineteenth  century  with  all  the  passion  and  extravagance  of 
the  sixteenth  ;  it  was  something  to  hear,  amid  the  slang  of 
a  frontier  society,  the  language  of  knight-errantry  poured 
into  her  ear  by  this  lantern-jawed,  dark-browed  descendant 
of  the  Cavaliers. 

I  do  not  know  that  there  was  anything  more  in  it.  The 
facts,  however,  go  to  show  that  at  a  certain  point  Miss  Jc 
dropped  her  glove,  and  that  in  recovering  it  Culpepper  pos- 
sessed himself  first  of  her  hand  and  then  her  lips.  When 
they  stood  up  to  go,  Culpepper  had  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  and  her  black  hair,  with  its  sheaf  of  golden  oats, 
rested  against  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat.  But  even  then 
I  do  not  think  her  fancy  was  entirely  captive.  She  took  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  this  demonstration  of  Culpepper's 


32  THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADROSfO    HOLLOW 

splendid  height,  and  mentally  compared  it  with  a  former 
flame,  one  Lieutenant  McMirk,  an  active  but  under-sized 
Hector,  who  subsequently  fell  a  victim  to  the  incautiously 
composed  and  monotonous  beverages  of  a  frontier  garrison. 
Nor  was  she  so  much  preoccupied  but  that  her  quick  eyes, 
even  while  absorbing  Culpepper's  glances,  were  yet  able  to 
detect,  at  a  distance,  the  figure  of  a  man  approaching.  In 
an  instant  she  slipped  out  of  Culpepper's  arm,  and,  whip- 
ping her  hands  behind  her,  said,  "  There  's  that  horrid 
man !  " 

Culpepper  looked  up  and  beheld  his  respected  uncle 
panting  and  blowing  over  the  hill.  His  brow  contracted  as 
he  turned  to  Miss  Jo  :  "  You  don't  like  my  uncle  !  " 

"  I  hate  him ! "  Miss  Jo  was  recovering  her  ready 
tongue. 

Culpepper  blushed.  He  would  have  liked  to  enter  upon 
some  details  of  the  Colonel's  pedigree  and  exploits,  but 
there  was  not  time.  He  only  smiled  sadly.  The  smile 
melted  Miss  Jo.  She  held  out  her  hand  quickly,  and  said 
with  even  more  than  her  usual  effrontery,  "  Don't  let  that 
man  get  you  into  any  trouble.  Take  care  of  yourself,  dear, 
and  don't  let  anything  happen  to  you." 

Miss  Jo  intended  this  speech  to  be  pathetic  ;  the  tenure 
of  life  among  her  lovers  had  hitherto  been  very  uncertain. 
Culpepper  turned  toward  her,  but  she  had  already  vanished 
in  the  thicket. 

The  Colonel  came  up  panting.  "  I  've  looked  all  over 
town  for  you,  and  be  dashed  to  you,  sir.  Who  was  that 
with  you  ?  " 

"  A  lady."     (Culpepper  never  lied,  but  he  was  discreet.) 

"D— n  'em  all!  Look  yar,  Gulp,  I've  spotted  the 
man  who  gave  the  order  to  put  me  off  the  floor "  ("  flo " 
was  what  the  Colonel  said)  "  the  other  night ! " 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  asked  Culpepper  listlessly. 

"  Jack  Folinsbee." 


THE    ROMANCE    OF   MADRONO    HOLLOW  33 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  the  son  of  that  dashed,  nigger-worshiping,  psalm- 
singing,  Puritan  Yankee.  What 's  the  matter  now  ?  Look 
yar,  Gulp,  you  ain't  goin'  back  on  your  blood,  are  ye  ?  You 
ain't  goin'  back  on  your  word  ?  Ye  ain't  going  down  at 
the  feet  of  this  trash,  like  a  whipped  hound  ?  " 

Culpepper  was  silent.  He  was  very  white.  Presently 
he  looked  up  and  said  quietly,  "  No." 

Culpepper  Star  bottle  had  challenged  Jack  Folinsbee, 
and  the  challenge  was  accepted.  The  cause  alleged  was 
the  expelling  of  Culpepper's  uncle  from  the  floor  of  the 
Assembly  Ball  by  the  order  of  Folinsbee.  This  much 
Madrono  Hollow  knew  and  could  swear  to  ;  but  there  were 
other  strange  rumors  afloat,  of  which  the  blacksmith  was 
an  able  expounder.  "You  see,  gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the 
crowd  gathered  around  his  anvil,  "  I  ain't  got  no  theory  of 
this  affair ;  I  only  give  a  few  facts  as  have  come  to  my 
knowledge.  Culpepper  and  Jack  meets  quite  accidental 
like  in  Bob's  saloon.  Jack  goes  up  to  Culpepper  and  says, 
'  A  word  with  you.'  Culpepper  bows  and  steps  aside  in 
this  way,  Jack  standing  about  here."  (The  blacksmith  de- 
monstrates the  position  of  the  parties  with  two  old  horse- 
shoes on  the  anvil.)  "Jack  pulls  a  bracelet  from  his 
pocket  and  says,  '  Do  you  know  that  bracelet  ?  '  Culpepper 
says,  '  I  do  not,'  quite  cool-like  and  easy.  Jack  says,  'You 
gave  it  to  my  sister.'  Culpepper  says,  still  cool  as  you 
please,  '  I  did  not.'  Jack  says,  '  You  lie,  G — d  d — n 
you,'  and  draws  his  derringer.  Culpepper  jumps  forward 
about  here  "  (reference  is  made  to  the  diagram)  "  and  Jack 
fires.  Nobody  hit.  It 's  a  mighty  cur'o's  thing,  gentle- 
men," continued  the  blacksmith,  dropping  suddenly  into 
the  abstract,  and  leaning  meditatively  on  his  anvil,  —  "  it 's 
a  mighty  cur'o's  thing  that  nobody  gets  hit  'so  often. 
You  and  me  empties  our  revolvers  sociably  at  eac>.  other 


34      THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW 

over  a  little  game,  and  the  room  full,  and  nobody  gets  hit ! 
That 's  what  gets  me." 

"Never  mind,  Thompson,"  chimed  in  Bill  Masters; 
"  there  's  another  and  a  better  world  where  we  shall  know 
all  that,  and  —  become  better  shots.  Go  on  with  your 
story." 

"  Well,  some  grabs  Culpepper  and  some  grabs  Jack,  and 
so  separates  them.  Then  Jack  tells  'em  as  how  he  had 
seen  his  sister  wear  a  bracelet  which  he  knew  was  one  that 
had  been  given  Dolores  by  Colonel  Starbottle.  That  Miss 
Jo  would  n't  say  where  she  got  it,  but  owned  up  to  having 
seen  Culpepper  that  day.  Then,  the  most  cur'o's  thing  of 
it  yet,  what  does  Culpepper  do  but  rise  up  and  takes  all 
back  that  he  said,  and  allows  that  he  did  give  her  the 
bracelet.  Now  my  opinion,  gentlemen,  is  that  he  lied  ;  it 
ain't  like  that  man  to  give  a  gal  that  he  respects  anything 
off  of  that  piece,  Dolores.  But  it 's  all  the  same  now,  and 
there  's  but  one  thing  to  be  done." 

The  way  this  one  thing  was  done  belongs  to  the  record 
of  Madrono  Hollow.  The  morning  was  bright  and  clear  ; 
the  air  was  slightly  chill,  but  that  was  from  the  mist  which 
arose  along  the  banks  of  the  river.  As  early  as  six  o'clock 
the.  designated  ground  —  a  little  opening  in  the  madrono 
grove —  was  occupied  by  Culpepper  Starbottle,  Colonel 
Starbottle,  his  second,  and  the  surgeon.  The  Colonel  was 
exalted  and  excited,  albeit  in  a  rather  imposing,  dignified 
way,  and  pointed  out  to  the  surgeon  the  excellence  of  the 
ground,  which  at  that  hour  was  wholly  shaded  from  the 
sun,  whose  steady  stare  is  more  or  less  discomposing  to 
your  duelist.  The  surgeon  threw  himself  on  the  grass  and 
smoked  his  cigar.  Culpepper,  quiet  and  thoughtful,  leaned 
against  a  tree  and  gazed  up  the  river.  There  was  a  strange 
suggestion  of  a  picnic  about  the  group,  which  was  height- 
ened when  the  Colonel  drew  a'  bottle  from  his  coat-tails. 
and,  taking  a  preliminary  draught,  offered  it  to  the  othert,. 


THE    ROMANCE    OF   MADRONO   HOLLOW  35 

"Cocktails,  sir,"  he  explained  with  dignified  precision. 
"  A  gentleman,  sir,  should  never  go  out  without  'em. 
Keeps  off  the  morning  chill.  I  remember  going  out  in  '53 
with  Hank  Boompointer.  Good  ged,  sir,  the  man  had  to 
put  on  his  overcoat,  and  was  shot  in  it.  Fact !  " 

But  the  noise  of  wheels  drowned  the  Colonel's  remi- 
niscences, and  a  rapidly  driven  buggy,  containing  Jack 
Folinsbee,  Calhoun  Bungstarter,  his  second,  and  Bill  Mas- 
ters, drew  up  on  the  ground.  Jack  Folinsbee  leaped  out 
gayly.  "  I  had  the  jolliest  work  to  get  away  without  the 
governor's  hearing,"  he  began,  addressing  the  group  before 
him  with  the  greatest  volubility.  Calhoun  Bungstarter 
touched  his  arm,  and  the  young  man  blushed.  It  was  his 
first  duel. 

"  If  you  are  ready,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Bungstarter, 
"  we  had  better  proceed  to  business.  I  believe  it  is  under- 
stood that  no  apology  will  be  offered  or  accepted.  We 
may  as  well  settle  preliminaries  at  once,  or  I  fear  we  shall 
be  interrupted.  There  is  a  rumor  in  town  that  the  Vigi- 
lance Committee  are  seeking  our  friends  the  Starbottles, 
and  I  believe,  as  their  fellow-countryman,  I  have  the  honor 
to  be  included  in  their  warrant." 

At  this  probability  of  interruption,  that  gravity  which 
had  hitherto  been  wanting  fell  upon  the  group.  The  pre- 
liminaries were  soon  arranged  and  the  principals  placed  in 
position.  Then  there  was  a  silence. 

To  a  spectator  from  the  hill,  impressed  with  the  picnic 
suggestion,  what  might  have  been  the  popping  of  two 
champagne  corks  broke  the  stillness. 

Culpepper  had  fired  in  the  air.  Colonel  Starbottle 
uttered  a  low  curse.  Jack  Folinsbee  sulkily  demanded 
another  shot. 

Again  the  parties  stood  opposed  to  each  other.  Again 
the  word  was  given,  and  what  seemed  to  be  the  simulta- 
neous report  of  both  pistols  rose  upon  the  air.  But  after 


36  THE   ROMANCE   OF   MADRONO   HOLLOW 

an  interval  of  a  few  seconds  all  were  surprised  to  see 
Culpepper  slowly  raise  his  unexploded  weapon  and  fire  it 
harmlessly  above  his  head.  Then  throwing  the  pistol  upon 
the  ground,  he  walked  to  a  tree  and  leaned  silently  against 
it.  Jack  Folinsbee  flew  into  a  paroxysm  of  fury.  Colonel 
Starbottle  raved  and  swore.  Mr.  Bungstarter  was  properly 
shocked  at  their  conduct.  "Keally,  gentlemen,  if  Mr. 
Culpepper  Starbottle  declines  another  shot,  I  do  not  see 
how  we  can  proceed." 

But  the  Colonel's  blood  was  up,  and  Jack  Folinsbee 
was  equally  implacable.  A  hurried  consultation  ensued, 
which  ended  by  Colonel  Starbottle  taking  his  nephew's 
place  as  principal,  Bill  Masters  acting  as  second,  vice  Mr. 
Bungstarter,  who  declined  all  further  connection  with  the 
affair. 

Two  distinct  reports  rang  through  the  Hollow.  Jack 
Folinsbee  dropped  his  smoking  pistol,  took  a  step  forward, 
and  then  dropped  "heavily  upon  his  face. 

In  a  moment  the  surgeon  was  at  his  side.  The  confusion 
was  heightened  by  the  trampling  of  hoofs,  and  the  voice 
of  the  blacksmith  bidding  them  flee  for  their  lives  before 
the  coming  storm.  A  moment  more  and  the  ground  was 
cleared,  and  the  surgeon,  looking  up,  beheld  only  the  white 
face  of  Culpepper  bending  over  him. 

"  Can  you  save  him  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say.  Hold  up  his  head  a  moment  while  I 
run  to  the  buggy." 

Culpepper  passed  his  arm  tenderly  around  the  neck  of 
the  insensible  man.  Presently  the  surgeon  returned  with 
some  stimulants. 

"  There,  that  will  do,  Mr.  Starbottle,  thank  you.  Now 
my  advice  is  to  get  away  from  here  while  you  can.  I  '11 
look  after  Folinsbee.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

Culpepper's  arm  Vas  still  round  the  neck  of  his  late  foe, 
but  his  head  had  dropped  and  fallen  on  the  wounded 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   MADRONO    HOLLOW  37 

man's  shoulder.  The  surgeon  looked  down,  and  catching 
sight  of  his  face,  stooped  and  lifted  him  gently  in  his  arms. 
He  opened  his  coat  and  waistcoat.  There  was  blood  upon 
his  shirt  and  a  bullet-hole  in  his  breast.  He  had  been  shot 
unto  death  at  the  first  fire  ! 


THE   POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT 

As  the  enterprising  editor  of  the  "  Sierra  Flat  Record  " 
stood  at  his  case  setting  type  for  his  next  week's  paper,  he 
could  not  help  hearing  the  woodpeckers  who  were  busy  on 
the  roof  above  his  head.  It  occurred  to  him  that  possibly 
the  birds  had  not  yet  learned  to  recognize  in  the  rude  struc- 
ture any  improvement  on  Nature,  and  this  idea  pleased  him 
so  much  that  he  incorporated  it  in  the  editorial  article  which 
he  was  then  doubly  composing.  For  the  editor  was  also 
printer  of  the  "  Record ;  "  and  although  that  remarkable 
journal  was  reputed  to  exert  a  power  felt  through  all  Cala- 
veras  and  a  great  part  of  Tuolumne  County,  strict  economy 
was  one  of  the  conditions  of  its  beneficent  existence. 

Thus  preoccupied,  he  was  startled  by  the  sudden  irrup- 
tion of  a  small  roll  of  manuscript,  which  was  thrown 
through  the  open  door  and  fell  at  his  feet.  He  walked 
quickly  to  the  threshold  and  looked  down  the  tangled  trail 
which  led  to  the  highroad.  But  there  was  nothing  to  sug- 
gest the  presence  of  his  mysterious  contributor.  A  hare 
limped  slowly  away,  a  green-and-gold  lizard  paused  upon  a 
pine  stump,  the  woodpeckers  ceased  their  work.  So  com- 
plete had  been  his  sylvan  seclusion,  that  he  found  it  difficult 
to  connect  any  human  agency  with  the  act ;  rather  the  hare 
seemed  to  have  an  inexpressibly  guilty  look,  the  wood- 
peckers to  maintain-  a  significant  silence,  and  the  lizard  to 
be  conscience-stricken  into  stone. 

An  examination  of  the  manuscript,  however,  corrected 
this  injustice  to  defenseless  Nature.  It  was  evidently  of 
human  origin,  —  being  verse,  and  of  exceeding  bad  quality, 


THE    POET   OF   SIERUA   FLAT  39 

The  editor  laid  it  aside.  As  he  did  so  he  thought  he  saw  a 
face  at  the  window.  Sallying  out  in  some  indignation,  he 
penetrated  the  surrounding  thicket  in  every  direction,  but 
his  search  was  as  fruitless  as  before.  The  poet,  if  it  were 
he,  was  gone. 

A  few  days  after  this  the  editorial  seclusion  was  invaded 
by  voices  of  alternate  expostulation  and  entreaty.  Stepping 
to  the  door,  the  editor  was  amazed  at  beholding  Mr.  Morgan 
McCorkle,  a  well-known  citizen  of  Angel's  and  a  subscriber 
to  the  "  Record,"  in  the  act  of  urging,  partly  by  force  and 
partly  by  argument,  an  awkward  young  man  toward  the 
building.  When  he  had  finally  effected  his  object,  and,  as 
it  were,  safely  landed  his  prize  in  a  chair,  Mr.  McCorkle 
took  off  his  hat,  carefully  wiped  the  narrow  isthmus  of  fore- 
head which  divided  his  black  brows  from  his  stubby  hair, 
and,  with  an  explanatory  wave  of  his  hand  toward  his  re- 
luctant companion,  said,  "  A  borned  poet,  and  the  cussedest 
fool  you  ever  seed  !  " 

Accepting  the  editor's  smile  as  a  recognition  of  the  in- 
troduction, Mr.  McCorkle  panted  and  went  on :  "  Did  n't 
want  to  come  !  '  Mister  Editor  don't  want  to  see  me, 
Morg/  sez  he.  '  Milt,'  sez  I,  '  he  do  ;  a  borned  poet  like 
you  and  a  gifted  genius  like  he  oughter  come  together 
sociable  ! '  And  I  fetched  him.  Ah,  will  yer  ?  "  The 
born  poet  had,  after  exhibiting  signs  of  great  distress, 
started  to  run.  But  Mr.  McCorkle  was  down  upon  him  in- 
stantly, seizing  him  by  his  long  linen  coat,  and  settled  him 
back  in  his  chair.  "  'T  ain't  no  use  stampeding.  Yer  ye  are 
and  yer  ye  stays.  For  yer  a  borned  poet,  —  ef  ye  are  as 
shy  as  a  jackass  rabbit.  Look  at  'im  now !  " 

He  certainly  was  not  an  attractive  picture.  There  was 
hardly  a  notable  feature  in  his  weak  face,  except  his  eyes, 
which  were  moist  and  shy,  and  not  unlike  the  animal  tc 
which  Mr.  McCorkle  had  compared  him.  It  was  the  face 
that  the  editor  had  seen  at  the  window. 


40  THE  POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT 

"  Knowed  him  for  fower  year,  —  since  he  war  a  boy," 
continued  Mr.  McCorkle  in  a  loud  whisper.  "  Allers  tha 
same,  bless  you !  Can  jerk  a  rhyme  as  easy  as  turnin'  jack. 
Never  had  any  eddication ;  lived  out  in  Missooray  all  his 
life.  But  he 's  chock  full  o'  poetry.  On'y  this  mornin' 
sez  I  to  him, — he  camps  along  o'  me,  —  'Milt!'  sez  I, 
1  are  breakfast  ready  ?  '  and  he  up  and  answers  back  quite 
peart  and  chipper,  '  The  breakfast  it  is  ready,  and  the  birds 
is  singing  free,  and  it 's  risin'  in  the  dawnin'  light  is  happi- 
ness to  me  ! '  When  a  man,"  said  Mr.  McCorkle,  dropping 
his  voice  with  deep  solemnity,  "  gets  off  things  like  them, 
without  any  call  to  do  it,  and  handlin'  flapjacks  over  a  cook- 
stove  at  the  same  time,  —  that  man's  a  horned  poet." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Mr.  McCorkle  beamed 
patronizingly  on  his  protege.  The  born  poet  looked  as  if 
he  were  meditating  another  flight,  —  not  a  metaphorical 
one.  The  editor  asked  if  he  could  do  anything  for  them. 

"  In  course  you  can,"  responded  Mr.  McCorkle,  "  that 's 
jest  it.  Milt,  where 's  that  poetry  ?  " 

The  editor's  countenance  fell  as  the  poet  produced  from 
his  pocket  a  roll  of  manuscript.  He,  however,  took  it 
mechanically  and  glanced  over  it.  It  was  evidently  a 
duplicate  of  the  former  mysterious  contribution. 

The  editor  then  spoke  briefly  but  earnestly.  I  regret 
that  I  cannot  recall  his  exact  words,  but  it  appeared  that 
never  before,  in  the  history  of  the  "  Record,"  had  the  press- 
ure been  so  great  upon  its  columns.  Matters  of  paramount 
importance,  deeply  affecting  the  material  progress  of  Sierra, 
questions  touching  the  absolute  integrity  of  Calaveras  and 
Tuolumne  as  social  communities,  were  even  now  waiting 
expression.  Weeks,  nay,  months,  must  elapse  before  that 
pressure  would  be  removed,  and  the  "  Record  "  could  grap- 
ple with  any  but  the  sternest  of  topics.  Again,  the  editor 
had  noticed  with  pain  the  absolute  decline  of  poetry  in  the 
foothills  of  the  Sierras.  Even  the  works  of  Byron  and 


THE    POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT  41 

Moore  attracted  no  attention  in  Dutch  Flat,  and  a  prejudice 
seemed  to  exist  against  Tennyson  in  Grass  Valley.  But 
the  editor  was  not  without  hope  for  the  future.  In  the 
course  of  four  or  five  years,  when  the  country  was  settled  — 

"  What  would  be  the  cost  to  print  this  yer  ? "  inter- 
rupted Mr.  McCorkle  quietly. 

"  About  fifty  dollars,  as  an  advertisement,"  responded 
the.  editor  with  cheerful  alacrity. 

Mr.  McCorkle  placed  the  sum  in  the  editor's  hand, 
"  Yer  see  thet  's  what  I  sez  to  Milt.  '  Milt/  sez  I,  <  pay 
as  you  go,  for  you  are  a  horned  poet.  Hevin'  no  call  to 
write,  but  doin'  it  free  and  spontaneous  like,  in  course  you 
pays.  Thet 's  why  Mr.  Editor  never  printed  your  poetry.'  " 

"  What  name  shall  I  put  to  it  ?  "  asked  the  editor. 

"  Milton." 

It  was  the  first  word  that  the  born  poet  had  spoken  during 
the  interview,  and  his  voice  was  so  very  sweet  and  musical 
that  the  editor  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  wondered  if  he 
had  a  sister. 

"  Milton  !  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Thet 's  his  furst  name,"  exclaimed  Mr.  McCorkle. 

The  editor  here  suggested  that  as  there  had  been  another 
poet  of  that  name  — 

"  Milt  might  be  took  for  him  !  Thet 's  bad,"  reflected 
Mr.  McCorkle  with  simple  gravity.  "  Well,  put  down  his 
full  name,  —  Milton  Chubbuck." 

The  editor  made  a  note  of  the  fact.  "  I  '11  set  it  up 
now,"  he  said.  This  was  also  a  hint  that  the  interview 
was  ended.  The  poet  and  patron,  arm  in  arm,  drew 
towards  the  door.  "  In  next  week's  paper,"  said  the 
editor  smilingly,  in  answer  to  the  childlike  look  of  inquiry 
in  the  eyes  of  the  poet,  and  in  another  moment  they  were 
gone. 

The  editor  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  straightway 
betook  himself  to  his  case,  and,  unrolling  the  manuscript, 


42  THE   POET  OF   SIERRA   FLAT 

began  his  task.  The  woodpeckers  on  the  roof  recommenced 
theirs,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  former  sylvan  seclusion 
was  restored.  There  was  no  sound  in  the  barren,  barn-like 
room  but  the  birds  above,  and  below  the  click  of  the  com- 
posing rule  as  the  editor  marshaled  the  types  into  lines  in 
his  sti<;k,  and  arrayed  them  in  solid  column  on  the  galley. 
Whatever  might  have  been  his  opinion  of  the  copy  before 
him,  there  was  no  indication  of  it  in  his  face,  which  wore 
the  stolid  indifference  of  his  craft.  Perhaps  this  was  un- 
fortunate, for  as  the  day  wore  on  and  the  level  rays  of  the 
sun  began  to  pierce  the  adjacent  thicket,  they  sought  out 
and  discovered  an  anxious  ambush  figure  drawn  up  beside 
the  editor's  window,  —  a  figure  that  had  sat  there  motion- 
less for  hours.  Within,  the  editor  worked  on  as  steadily 
and  impassively  as  Fate.  And  without,  the  born  poet  of 
Sierra  Flat  sat  and  Avatched  him  as  waiting  its  decree. 

The  effect  of  the  poem  on  Sierra  Flat  was  remarkable 
and  unprecedented.  The  absolute  vileness  of  its  doggerel, 
the  gratuitous  imbecility  of  its  thought,  and  above  all  the 
crowning  audacity  of  the  fact  that  it  was  the  work  of  a  citi- 
zen and  published  in  the  county  paper,  brought  it  instantly 
into  popularity.  For  many  months  Calaveras  had  lan- 
guished for  a  sensation  ;  since  the  last  Vigilance  Committee 
nothing  had  transpired  to  dispel  the  listless  ennui  begotten 
of  stagnant  business  and  growing  civilization.  In  more 
prosperous  moments  the  office  of  the  "  Kecord  "  would  have 
been  simply  gutted  and  the  editor  deported ;  at  present  the 
paper  was  in  such  demand  that  the  edition  was  speedily  ex- 
hausted. In  brief,  the  poem  of  Mr.  Milton  Chubbuck  came 
like  a  special  providence  to  Sierra  Flat.  It  was  read  by 
camp-fires,  in  lonely  cabins,  in  flaring  bar-rooms  and  noisy 
saloons,  and  declaimed  from  the  boxes  of  stage-coaches.  It 
was  sung  in  Poker  Flat  with  the  addition  of  a  local  chorus, 
and  danced  as  an  unhallowed  rhythmic  dance  by  the  Pyrrhic 


THE    POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT  48 

phalanx  of  One  Horse  Gulch,  known  as  "  The  Festive  Stags 
of  Calaveras."  Some  unhappy  ambiguities  of  expression 
gave  rise  to  many  new  readings,  notes,  and  commentarieSj 
which,  I  regret  to  state,  were  more  often  marked  by  inge- 
nuity than  delicacy  of  thought  or  expression. 

Never  before  did  poet  acquire  such  sudden  local  reputa- 
tion. From  the  seclusion  of  McCorkle's  cabin  and  the 
obscurity  of  culinary  labors  he  was  haled  forth  into  the 
glowing  sunshine  of  Fame.  The  name  of  Chubbuck  was 
written  in  letters  of  chalk  on  unpainted  walls  and  carved  with 
a  pick  on  the  sides  of  tunnels.  A  drink  known  variously 
as  "  The  Chubbuck  Tranquilizer  "  or  **  The  Chubbuck  Ex- 
alter  "  was  dispensed  at  the  bars.  For  some  weeks  a  rude 
design  for  a  Chubbuck  statue,  made  up  of  illustrations  from 
circus  and  melodeon  posters,  representing  the  genius  of  Cala- 
veras in  brief  skirts  on  a  flying  steed  in  the  act  of  crowning 
the  poet  Chubbuck,  was  visible  at  Keeler's  Ferry.  The 
poet  himself  was  overborne  with  invitations  to  drink  and 
extravagant  congratulations.  The  meeting  between  Colonel 
Starbottle  of  Siskiyou  and  Chubbuck,  as  previously  arranged 
by  our  "  Boston,"  late  of  Eoaring  Camp,  is  said  to  have 
been  indescribably  affecting.  The  Colonel  embraced  him 
unsteadily.  "  I  could  not  return  to  my  constituents  at  Sis- 
kiyou, sir,  if  this  hand,  which  has  grasped  that  of  the  gifted 
Prentice  and  the  lamented  Poe,  should  not  have  been  hon- 
ored by  the  touch  of  the  godlike  Chubbuck.  Gentlemen, 
American  literature  is  looking  up.  Thank  you  !  I  will 
take  sugar  in  mine."  It  was  "  Boston  "  who  indited  letters 
of  congratulations  from  H.  W.  Longfellow,  Tennyson,  and 
Browning  to  Mr.  Chubbuck,  deposited  them  in  the  Sierra 
Flat  post-office,  and  obligingly  consented  to  dictate  the  re- 
plies. 

The  simple  faith  and  unaffected  delight  with  which  these 
manifestations  were  received  by  the  poet  and  his  patron 
might  have  touched  the  hearts  of  these  grim  masters  of  irony. 


44  THE    POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT 

but  for  the  sudden  and  equal  development  in  both  of  the 
vanity  of  weak  natures.  Mr.  McCorkle  basked  in  the 
popularity  of  his  protege,  and  became  alternately  supercil- 
ious or  patronizing  toward  the  dwellers  of  Sierra  Flat ;  while 
the  poet,  with  hair  carefully  oiled  and  curled,  and  bedecked 
with  cheap  jewelry  and  flaunting  neck-handkerchief,  paraded 
himself  before  the  single  hotel.  As  may  be  imagined,  this 
new  disclosure  of  weakness  afforded  intense  satisfaction  to 
Sierra  Flat,  gave  another  lease  of  popularity  to  the  poet, 
and  suggested  another  idea  to  the  facetious  "  Boston." 

At  that  time  a  young  lady  popularly  and  professionally 
known  as  the  "  California  Pet "  was  performing  to  enthusi- 
astic audiences  in  the  interior.  Her  specialty  lay  in  the 
personation  of  youthful  masculine  character  ;  as  a  gamin  of 
the  street  she  was  irresistible,  as  a  negro-dancer  she  carried 
the  honest  miner's  heart  by  storm.  A  saucy,  pretty  bru- 
nette, she  had  preserved  a  wonderful  moral  reputation  even 
under  the  Jove-like  advances  of  showers  of  gold  that  greeted 
her  appearance  on  the  stage  at  Sierra  Flat.  A  prominent 
and  delighted  member  of  that  audience  was  Milton  Chubbuck. 
He  attended  every  night.  Every  day  he  lingered  at  the 
door  of  the  Union  Hotel  for  a  glimpse  of  the  "  California 
Pet."  It  was  not  long  before  he  received  a  note  from  her, 

—  in  "  Boston's  "  most  popular  and  approved  female  hand, 

—  acknowledging  his  admiration.      It  was  not  long  before 
"  Boston  "  was  called  upon  to  indite  a  suitable  reply.      At 
last,  in  furtherance  of  his  facetious  design,  it  became  neces- 
sary for  "Boston"  to  call  upon  the  young  actress  herself 
and  secure  her  personal  participation.      To  her  he  unfolded 
a  plan,  the  successful  carrying  out  of  which  he  felt  would 
eecure  his  fame  to  posterity  as  a  practical  humorist.      The 
"  California   Pet's  "  black  eyes    sparkled  approvingly  and 
mischievously.     She  only  stipulated  that  she  should  see  the 
man  first, —a  concession  to  her  feminine  weakness  which 
years  of  dancing  Juba  and  wearing  trousers  and  boots  had 


THE    POET   OF  'SIERRA   FLAT  45 

not  wholly  eradicated  from  her  willful  breast.  By  all  means, 
it  should  be  done.  And  the  interview  was  arranged  for 
the  next  week. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  during  this  interval  of 
popularity  Mr.  Chubbuck  had  been  unmindful  of  his  poetic 
qualities.  A  certain  portion  of  each  day  he  was  absent 
from  town,  —  "  a-communin'  with  natur',"  as  Mr.  McCorkle 
expressed  it,  —  and  actually  wandering  in  the  mountain 
trails,  or  lying  on  his  back  under  the  trees,  or  gathering 
fragrant  herbs  and  the  bright-colored  berries  of  the  Man- 
zanita.  These  and  his  company  he  generally  brought  to 
the  editor's  office  late  in  the  afternoon,  often  to  that  enter- 
prising journalist's  infinite  weariness.  Quiet  and  uncom- 
municative, he  would  sit  there  patiently  watching  him  at 
his  work  until  the  hour  for  closing  the  office  arrived,  when 
he  would  as  quietly  depart.  There  was  something  so  hum- 
ble and  unobtrusive  in  these  visits,  that  the  editor  could  not 
find  it  in  his  heart  to  deny  them,  and  accepting  them,  like 
the  woodpeckers,  as  a  part  of  his  sylvan  surroundings,  often 
forgot  even  his  presence.  Once  or  twice,  moved  by  some 
beauty  of  expression  in  the  moist,  shy  eyes,  he  felt  like 
seriously  admonishing  his  visitor  of  his  idle  folly ;  but  his 
glance  falling  upon  the  oiled  hair  and  the  gorgeous  necktie 
he  invariably  thought  better  of  it.  The  case  was  evidently 
hopeless. 

The  interview  between  Mr.  Chubbuck  and  the  "  Cali- 
fornia Pet"  took  place  in  a  private  room  of  the  Union 
Hotel ;  propriety  being  respected  by  the  presence  of  that 
arch-humorist,  "Boston."  To  this  gentleman  we  are  in- 
debted for  the  only  true  account  of  the  meeting.  However 
reticent  Mr.  Chubbuck  might  have  been  in  the  presence  of 
his  own  sex,  toward  the  fairer  portion  of  humanity  he  was, 
like  most  poets,  exceedingly  voluble.  Accustomed  as  the 
"  California  Pet  "  had  been  to  excessive  compliment,  she 
was  fairly  embarrassed  by  the  extravagant  praises  of  her 


46  THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT 

visitor.  Her  personation  of  boy  characters,  her  dancing  of 
the  "  champion  jig,"  were  particularly  dwelt  upon  with 
fervid  but  unmistakable  admiration.  At  last,  recovering  hei 
audacity  and  emboldened  by  the  presence  of  "  Boston," 
the  "  California  Pet "  electrified  her  hearers  by  demanding, 
half  jestingly,  half  viciously,  if  it  were  as  a  boy  or  a  girl 
that  she  was  the  subject  of  his  nattering  admiration. 

"  That  knocked  him  out  o'  time,"  said  the  delighted 
"Boston,"  in  his  subsequent  account  of  the  interview 
"  But  do  you  believe  the  d — d  fool  actually  asked  her  to 
take  him  with  her ;  wanted  to  engage  in  the  company." 

The  plan,  as  briefly  unfolded  by  "  Boston,"  was  to  prevail 
upon  Mr.  Chubbuck  to  make  his  appearance  in  costume 
(already  designed  and  prepared  by  the  inventor)  before  a 
Sierra  Flat  audience,  and  recite  an  original  poem  at  the 
Hall  immediately  on  the  conclusion  of  the  "  California 
Pet's  "  performance.  At  a  given  signal  the  audience  were 
to  rise  and  deliver  a  volley  of  unsavory  articles  (previously 
provided  by  the  originator  of  the  scheme)  ;  then  a  select 
few  were  to  rush  on  the  stage,  seize  the  poet,  and,  after 
marching  him  in  triumphal  procession  through  the  town, 
•were  to  deposit  him  beyond  its  uttermost  limits,  with  strict 
injunctions  never  to  enter  it  again.  To  the  first  part  of  the 
plan  the  poet  was  committed  ;  for  the  latter  portion  it  was 
easy  enough  to  find  participants. 

The  eventful  night  came,  and  with  it  an  audience  that 
packed  the  long  narrow  room  with  one  dense  mass  of  human 
beings.  The  "  California  Pet  "  never  had  been  so  joyous, 
so  reckless,  so  fascinating  and  audacious  before.  But  the 
applause  was  tame  and  weak  compared  to  the  ironical  out- 
burst that  greeted  the  second  rising  of  the  curtain  and  the 
entrance  of  the  born  poet  of  Sierra  "Flat.  Then  there  was  a 
hush  of  expectancy,  and  the  poet  stepped  to  the  footlights 
and  stood  with  his  manuscript  in  his  hand. 

His  face  was  deadly  pale.     Either  there  was  some  sug- 


THE    POET   OF   SIEREA    FLAT  47 

gestion  of  his  fate  in  the  faces  of  his  audience,  or  some 
mysterious  instinct  told  him  of  his  danger.  He  attempted 
to  speak,  but  faltered,  tottered,  and  staggered  to  the  wings. 

Fearful  of  losing  his  prey,  "  Boston  "  gave  the  signal 
and  leaped  upon  the  stage.  But  at  the  same  moment  a 
light  figure  darted  from  behind  the  scenes,  and  delivering  a 
kick  that  sent  the  discomfited  humorist  back  among  the 
musicians,  cut  a  pigeon-wing,  executed  a  double-shuffle,  and 
then  advancing  to  the  footlights  with  that  inimitable  look, 
that  audacious  swagger  and  utter  abandon  which  had  so 
thrilled  and  fascinated  them  a  moment  before,  uttered  the 
characteristic  speech,  "  Wot  are  you  goin'  to  hit  a  man  fur 
when  he  's  down,  s-a-a-y  ?  " 

The  look,  the  drawl,  the  action,  the  readiness,  and  abovft 
all  the  downright  courage  of  the  little  woman,  had  an  effect. 
A  roar  of  sympathetic  applause  followed  the  act.  "  Cut 
and  run  while  you  can,"  she  whispered  hurriedly  over  her 
une  shoulder,  without  altering  the  other's  attitude  of  pert 
and  saucy  defiance  toward  the  audience.  But  even  as  she 
tpoke,  the  poet  tottered  and  .sank  fainting  upon  the  stage. 
Then  she  threw  a  despairing  whisper  behind  the  scenes, 
"  Ring  down  the  curtain." 

There  was  a  slight  movement  of  opposition  in  the  audi- 
ence, but  among  them  rose  the  burly  shoulders  of  Yuba 
Bill,  the  tall,  erect  figure  of  Henry  York,  of  Sandy  Bar, 
and  the  colorless,  determined  face  of  John  Oakhurst.  The 
curtain  came  down. 

Behind  it  knelt  the  "  California  Pet "  beside  the  pros' 
tvate  poet.  "  Bring  me  some  water.  Run  for  a  doctor. 
Stop  ! !  CLEAR  OUT,  ALL  OF  YOU  !  " 

She  had  unloosed  the  gaudy  cravat  and  opened  the  shirt- 
collar  of  the  insensible  figure  before  her.  Then  she  burst 
into  an  hysterical  laugh. 

"  Manuela  ! " 

Her  tiring-woman,  a  Mexican  half-breed,  came  toward  her, 


48  THE   POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT 

"  Help  me  with  him  to  my  dressing-room,  quick ;  then 
stand  outside  and  wait.  If  any  one  questions  you,  tell 
them  he  's  gone.  Do  you  hear  ?  HE  's  gone." 

The  old  woman  did  as  she  was  bade.  In  a  few  moments 
the  audience  had  departed.  Before  morning  so  also  had 
the  "California  Pet,"  Manuela,  and  the  poet  of  Sierra 
Flat. 

But,  alas !  with  them  also  had  departed  the  fair  fame  of 
the  "  California  Pet."  Only  a  few,  and  these,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  of  not  the  best  moral  character  themselves,  still  had 
faith  in  the  stainless  honor  of  their  favorite  actress.  "  It 
was  a  mighty  foolish  thing  to  do,  but  it  '11  all  come  out 
right  yet."  On  the  other  hand,  a  majority  gave  her  full 
credit  and  approbation  for  her  undoubted  pluck  and  gal- 
lantry, but  deplored  that  she  should  have  thrown  it  away 
upon  a  worthless  object.  To  elect  for  a  lover  the  despised 
and  ridiculed  vagrant  of  Sierra  Flat,  who  had  not  even  the 
manliness  to  stand  up  in  his  own  defense,  was  not  only 
evidence  of  inherent  moral  depravity,  but  was  an  insult  to 
the  community.  Colonel  Starbottle  saw  in  it  only  another 
instance  of  extreme  frailty  of  the  sex ;  he  had  known 
similar  cases  ;  and  remembered  distinctly,  sir,  how  a  well 
known  Philadelphia  heiress,  one  of  the  finest  women  that 
ever  rode  in  her  kerridge,  that,  gad,  sir !  had  thrown  over 
a  Southern  member  of  Congress  to  consort  with  a  d — d 
nigger.  The  Colonel  had  also  noticed  a  singular  look  in 
the  dog's  eye  which  he  did  not  entirely  fancy.  He  would 
not  say  anything  against  the  lady,  sir,  but  he  had  noticed  — 
And  here,  haply,  the  Colonel  became  so  mysterious  and 
darkly  confidential  as  to  be  unintelligible  and  inaudible  to 
the  bystanders. 

A  few  days  after  the  disappearance  of  Mr.  Chubbuck  a 
singular  report  reached  Sierra  Flat,  and  it  was  noticed  that 
"  Boston,"  who  since  the  failure  of  his  elaborate  joke  had 
been  even  more  depressed  in  spirits  than  is  habitual  with 


THE   POET   OF   SIEKRA   FLAT  49 

great  humorists,  suddenly  found  that  his  presence  was 
required  in  San  Francisco.  But  as  yet  nothing  but  the 
vaguest  surmises  were  afloat,  and  nothing  definite  was 
known. 

It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon  when  the  editor  of  the 
"  Sierra  Flat  Record  "  looked  up  from  his  case  and  beheld 
the  figure  of  Mr.  Morgan  McCorkle  standing  in  the  door- 
way. There  was  a  distressed  look  on  the  face  of  that 
worthy  gentleman  that  at  once  enlisted  the  editor's  sym- 
pathizing attention.  He  held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand  as 
he  advanced  toward  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  As  a  man  as  has  allers  borne  a  fair  reputation,"  began 
Mr.  McCorkle  slowly,  "  I  should  like,  if  so  be  as  I  could, 
Mister  Editor,  to  make  a  correction  in  the  columns  of  your 
valooable  paper." 

Mr.  Editor  begged  him  to  proceed. 

"  Ye  may  not  disremember  that  about  a  month  ago  I 
fetched  here  what  so  be  as  we  '11  call  a  young  man  whose 
name  might  be  as  it  were  Milton  —  Milton  Chubbuck." 

Mr.  Editor  remembered  perfectly. 

"Thet  same  party  I'd  knowed  better  nor  fower  year, 
two  on  'em  campin'  out  together.  Not  that  I  'd  known 
him  all  the  time,  fur  he  war  shy  and  strange,  at  spells,  and 
had  odd  ways  that  I  took  war  nat'ral  to  a  horned  poet. 
Ye  may  remember  that  I  said  he  was  a  horned  poet  ?  " 

The  editor  distinctly  did. 

"  I  picked  this  same  party  up  in  St.  Jo.,  taking  a  fancy 
to  his  face,  and  kinder  calklating  he  'd  runned  away  from 
home ;  for  I  'm  a  married  man,  Mr.  Editor,  and  hev  chil- 
dren of  my  own,  —  and  thinkin'  belike  he  was  a  borned 
poet." 

"  Well,"  said  the  editor. 

"  And  as  I  said  before,  I  should  like  now  to  make  a 
torrection  in  the  columns  of  your  valooable  paper." 

"  What  correction  ?  "   asked  the  editor. 


50  THE   POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT 

"I  said,  ef  you  remember  my  words,  as  how  he  was  a 
horned  poet." 

"Yes." 

"  From  statements  in  this  yer  letter  it  seems  as  how  I 
war  wrong." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  She  war  a  woman." 


THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS 

SHE  was  a  Klainath  Indian.  Her  title  was,  I  think,  a 
compromise  between  her  claim  as  daughter  of  a  chief  and 
gratitude  to  her  earliest  white  protector,  whose  name,  after 
the  Indian  fashion,  she  had  adopted.  "  Bob "  Walker 
had  taken  her  from  the  breast  of  her  dead  mother  at  a 
time  when  the  sincere  volunteer  soldiery  of  the  California 
frontier  were  impressed  with  the  belief  that  extermination 
was  the  manifest  destiny  of  the  Indian  race.  He  had  with 
difficulty  restrained  the  noble  zeal  of  his  compatriots  long 
enough  to  convince  them  that  the  exemption  of  one  Indian 
baby  would  not  invalidate  this  theory.  And  he  took  her  to 
his  home,  a  pastoral  clearing  on  the  banks  of  the  Salmon 
River,  Avhere  she  was  cared  for  after  a  frontier  fashion. 

Before  she  was  nine  years  old,  she  had  exhausted  the 
scant  kindliness  of  the  thin,  overworked  Mrs.  Walker.  As 
a  playfellow  of  the  young  Walkers  she  was  unreliable  ; 
as  a  nurse  for  the  baby  she  was  inefficient.  She  lost  the 
former  in  the  trackless  depths  of  a  redwood  forest ;  she 
basely  abandoned  the  latter  in  an  extemporized  cradle, 
hanging  like  a  chrysalis  to  a  convenient  bough.  She  lied 
and  she  stole,  —  two  unpardonable  sins  in  a  frontier  com- 
munity, where  truth  was  a  necessity  and  provisions  were 
the  only  property.  Worse  than  this,  the  outskirts  of  the 
clearing  were  sometimes  haunted  by  blanketed  tatterdema- 
lions with  whom  she  had  mysterious  confidences.  Mr. 
Walker  more  than  once  regretted  his  indiscreet  humanity ; 
but  she  presently  relieved  him  of  responsibility,  and  pos- 
sibly of  blood-guiltiness,  by  disappearing  entirely. 


52  THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS 

When  she  reappeared,  it  was  at  the  adjacent  village  of 
Logport,  in  the  capacity  of  housemaid  to  a  trader's  wife; 
who,  joining  some  little  culture  to  considerable  conscien- 
tiousness, attempted  to  instruct  her  charge.  But  the 
Princess  proved  an  unsatisfactory  pupil  to  even  so  liberal 
a  teacher.  She  accepted  the  alphabet  with  great  good- 
humor,  but  always  as  a  pleasing  and  recurring  novelty,  in 
which  all  interest  expired  at  the  completion  of  each  lesson. 
She  found  a  thousand  uses  for  her  books  and  writing 
materials  other  than  those  known  to  civilized  children. 
She  made  a  curious  necklace  of  bits  of  slate  pencil ;  she 
constructed  a  miniature  canoe  from  the  pasteboard  covers 
of  her  primer ;  she  bent  her  pens  into  fish-hooks,  and 
tattooed  the  faces  of  her  younger  companions  with  blue  ink. 
Religious  instruction  she  received  as  good-humoredly,  and 
learned  to  pronounce  the  name  of  the  Deity  with  a  cheerful 
familiarity  that  shocked  her  preceptress.  Nor  could  her 
reverence  be  reached  through  analogy ;  she  knew  nothing 
of  the  Great  Spirit,  and  professed  entire  ignorance  of  the 
Happy  Hunting  Grounds.  Yet  she  attended  divine  service 
regularly,  and  as  regularly  asked  for  a  hymn-book  ;  and 
it  was  only  through  the  discovery  that  she  had  collected 
twenty-five  of  these  volumes  and  had  hidden  them  behind 
the  woodpile,  that  her  connection  with  the  First  Baptist 
Church  of  Logport  ceased.  She  would  occasionally  abandon 
these  civilized  and  Christian  privileges,  and  disappear  from 
her  home,  returning  after  several  days  of  absence  with  an 
odor  of  bark  and  fish,  and  a  peace-offering  to  her  mistress  in 
the  shape  of  venison  or  game. 

To  add  to  her  troubles,  she  was  now  fourteen,  and, 
according  to  the  laws  of  her  race,  a  woman.  I  do  not  think 
the  most  romantic  fancy  would  have  called  her  pretty. 
Her  complexion  defied  most  of  those  ambiguous  similes 
through  which  poets  unconsciously  apologize  for  any  devia- 
tion from  the  Caucasian  standard.  It  was  not  wine  nor 


THE    PRINCESS    BOB   AND    HER   FRIENDS  53 

amber  colored  ;  if  anything,  it  was  smoky.  Her  facf  vas 
tattooed  with  red  and  white  lines  on  one  cheek,  as  if  a  5ne- 
toothed  comb  had  been  drawn  from  cheekbone  to  jaw,  and, 
but  for  the  good-humor  that  beamed  from  her  small  berry- 
like  eyes  and  shone  in  her  white  teeth,  would  have  been 
repulsive.  She  was  short  and  stout.  In  her  scant  drapery 
and  unrestrained  freedom  she  was  hardly  statuesque,  and 
her  more  unstudied  attitudes  were  marred  by  a  simian  habit 
of  softly  scratching  her  left  ankle  with  the  toes  of  her 
right  foot  in  moments  of  contemplation. 

I  think  I  have  already  shown  enough  to  indicate  the 
incongruity  of  her  existence  with  even  the  low  standard 
of  civilization  that  obtained  at  Logport  in  the  year  1860. 
It  needed  but  one  more  fact  to  prove  the  far-sighted  polit- 
ical sagacity  and  prophetic  ethics  of  those  sincere  advocates 
of  extermination,  to  whose  virtues  I  have  done  but  scant 
justice  in  the  beginning  of  this  article.  This  fact  was 
presently  furnished  by  the  Princess.  After  one  of  her 
periodical  disappearances,  —  this  time  unusually  prolonged, 
—  she  astonished  Logport  by  returning  with  a  half-breed 
baby  of  a  week  old  in  her  arms.  That  night  a  meeting 
of  the  hard-featured  serious  matrons  of  Logport  was  held 
at  Mrs.  Brown's.  The  immediate  banishment  of  the  Prin- 
cess was  demanded.  Soft-hearted  Mrs.  Brown  endeavored 
vainly  to  get  a  mitigation  or  suspension  of  the  sentence. 
But,  as  on  a  former  occasion,  the  Princess  took  matters 
into  her  own  hands.  A  few  mornings  afterwards,  a  wicker 
cradle  containing  an  Indian  baby  was  found  hanging  on  the 
handle  of  the  door  of  the  First  Baptist  Church.  It  was 
the  Parthian  arrow  of  the  flying  Princess.  From  that  day 
Logport  knew  her  no  more. 

It  had  been  a  bright  clear  day  on  the  upland,  so  clear 
that  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Jackson  and  the  flagstaff  were 
plainly  visible  twelve  miles  away  from  the  long,  curving 


54  THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS 

peninsula  that  stretched  a  bared  white  arm  around  the 
peaceful  waters  of  Logport  Bay.  It  had  been  a  clear  day 
upon  the  seashore,  albeit  the  air  was  filled  with  the  flying 
spume  and  shifting  sand  of  a  straggling  beach,  whose  low 
chines  were  dragged  down  by  the  long  surges  of  the  Pacific 
and  thrown  up  again  by  the  tumultuous  trade-winds.  But 
the  sun  had  gone  down  in  a  bank  of  fleecy  fog  that  was  be- 
ginning to  roll  in  upon  the  beach.  Gradually  the  headland 
at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor  and  the  lighthouse  disap- 
peared, then  the  willow  fringe  that  marked  the  line  of 
Salmon  Kiver  vanished,  and  the  ocean  was  gone.  A  few 
sails  still  gleamed  on  the  waters  of  the  bay ;  but  the  ad- 
vancing fog  wiped  them  out  one  by  one,  crept  across  the 
steel-blue  expanse,  swallowed  up  the  white  mills  and  single 
spire  of  Logport,  and,  joining  with  reinforcements  from  the 
marshes,  moved  solemnly  upon  the  hills.  Ten  minutes 
more  and  the  landscape  was  utterly  blotted  out ;  simulta- 
neously the  wind  died  away  and  a  death-like  silence  stole 
over  sea  and  shore.  The  faint  clang,  high  overhead,  of 
imseen  brant,  the  nearer  call  of  invisible  plover,  the  lap  and 
wash  of  undistinguishable  waters,  and  the  monotonous  roll 
of  the  vanished  ocean,  were  the  only  sounds.  As  night 
deepened,  the  far-off  booming  of  the  fog-bell  on  the  head- 
land at  intervals  stirred  the  thick  air. 

Hard  by  the  shore  of  the  bay,  and  half  hidden  by  a 
drifting  sandhill,  stood  a  low,  nondescript  structure,  to 
whose  composition  sea  and  shore  had  equally  contributed. 
It  was  built  partly  of  logs  and  partly  of  driftwood  and 
tarred  canvas.  Joined  to  one  end  of  the  main  building  — 
the  ordinary  log-cabin  of  the  settler  —  was  the  half-round 
pilot-house  of  some  wrecked  steamer,  while  the  other  gable 
terminated  in  half  of  a  broken  whaleboat.  Nailed  against 
the  boat  were  the  dried  skins  of  wild  animals,  and  scattered 
about  lay  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  many  years'  gathering, 
—  bamboo  crates,  casks,  hatches,  blocks,  oars,  boxes  part 


THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS  55 

of  a  whale's  vertebrae,  and  the  blades  of  svvordfish.  Drawn 
up  on  the  beach  of  a  little  cove  before  the  house  lay  a  canoe. 
As  the  night  thickened  and  the  fog  grew  more  dense,  these 
details  grew  imperceptible,  and  only  the  windows  of  the 
pilot-house,  lit  up  by  a  roaring  fire  within  the  hut,  gleamed 
redly  through  the  mist. 

By  this  fire,  beneath  a  ship's  lamp  that  swung  from  the 
roof,  two  figures  were  seated,  a  man  and  a  woman.  The 
man,  broad-shouldered  and  heavily  bearded,  stretched  his 
listless  powerful  length  beyond  a  broken  bamboo  chair  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire.  The  woman  crouched  cross- 
legged  upon  the  broad  earthen  hearth,  with  her  eyes  blink- 
ingly  fixed  on  her  companion.  They  were  small,  black, 
round,  berry-like  eyes,  and  as  the  firelight  shone  upon  her 
smoky  face,  with  its  one  striped  cheek  of  gorgeous  brilliancy, 
it  was  plainly  the  Princess  Bob  and  no  other. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken.  They  had  been  sitting  thus 
for  more  than  an  hour,  and  there  was  about  their  attitude  a 
suggestion  that  silence  was  habitual.  Once  or  twice  the 
man  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  narrow  room,  or 
gazed  absently  from  the  windows  of  the  pilot-house,  but 
never  by  look  or  sign  betrayed  the  slightest  consciousness 
of  his  companion.  At  such  times  the  Princess  from  her 
nest  by  the  fire  followed  him  with  eyes  of  canine  expectancy 
and  wistfulness.  But  he  would  as  inevitably  return  to  his 
contemplation  of  the  fire,  and  the  Princess  to  her  blinking 
watchfulness  of  his  face. 

They  had  sat  there  silent  and  undisturbed  for  many  an 
evening  in  fair  weather  and  foul.  They  had  spent  many  a 
day  in  sunshine  and  storm,  gathering  the  unclaimed  spoil 
of  sea  and  shore.  They  had  kept  these  mute  relations, 
varied  only  by  the  incidents  of  the  hunt  or  meagre  house- 
hold duties,  for  three  years,  ever  since  the  man,  wandering 
moodily  over  the  lonely  sands,  had  fallen  upon  the  half- 
starved  woman  lying  in  the  little  hollow  where  she  had 


56  THE   PRINCESS    BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS 

crawled  to  die.  It  had  seemed  as  if  they  would  never  b" 
disturbed,  until  now,  \vhen  the  Princess  started,  and,  with 
the  instinct  of  her  race,  bent  her  ear  to  the  ground. 

The  wind  had  risen  and  was  rattling  the  tarred  canvas. 
But  in  another  moment  there  plainly  came  from  without 
the  hut  the  sound  of  voices.  Then  followed  a  rap  at  the 
door ;  then  another  rap  ;  and  then,  before  they  could  rise 
to  their  feet,  the  door  was  flung  briskly  open. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  pleasant  but  somewhat  de- 
cided contralto  voice,  "  but  I  don't  think  you  heard  me 
knock.  Ah  !  I  see  you  did  not.  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

There  was  no  reply.  Had  the  battered  figurehead  of 
the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  which  lay  deeply  embedded  in  the 
sand  on  the  beach,  suddenly  appeared  at  the  door  demand- 
ing admittance,  the  occupants  of  the  cabin  could  not  have 
been  more  speechlessly  and  hopelessly  astonished  than  at 
the  form  which  stood  in  the  open  doorway. 

It  was  that  of  a  slim,  shapely,  elegantly  dressed  young 
woman.  A  scarlet-lined  silken  hood  was  half  thrown  back 
from  the  shining  mass  of  the  black  hair  that  covered  her 
small  head  ;  from  her  pretty  shoulders  dropped  a  fur  cloak, 
only  restrained  by  a  cord  and  tassel  in  her  small  gloved 
hand.  Around  her  full  throat  was  a  double  necklace  of 
large  white  beads,  that  by  some  cunning  feminine  trick 
relieved  with  its  infantile  suggestion  the  strong  decision  of 
her  lower  face. 

"  Did  you  say  yes  ?  Ah  !  thank  you.  We  may  come 
in,  Barker."  (Here  a  shadow  in  a  blue  army  overcoat  fol- 
lowed her  into  the  cabin,  touched  its  cap  respectfully,  and 
then  stood  silent  and  erect  against  the  wall.)  "  Don't 
disturb  yourself  in  the  least,  I  beg.  What  a  distressingly 
unpleasant  night !  Is  this  your  usual  climate  ?  " 

Half  graciously,  half  absently  overlooking  the  still 
embarrassed  silence  of  the  group,  she  went  on:  "We 
started  from  the  fort  over  three  hours  ago,  —  three  hours 


THE    PKINCESS   BOB   AND    HER   FRIENDS  57 

ago,  was  n't  it,  Barker  ?  "  —  (the  erect  Barker  touched  his 
cap)  —  "  to  go  to  Captain  Emmons's  quarters  on  Indian 
Island,  —  I  think  you  call  it  Indian  Island,  don't  you  ?  "  — 
(she  was  appealing  to  the  awe-stricken  Princess)  —  "  and 
we  got  into  the  fog  and  lost  our  way ;  that  is,  Barker  lost 
his  way  "  —  (Barker  touched  his  cap  deprecatingly)  — 
"  and  goodness  knows  where  we  did  n't  wander  to  until 
we  mistook  your  light  for  the  lighthouse  and  pulled  up 
here.  No,  no,  pray  keep  your  seat,  do  !  Really,  I  must 
insist." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  languid  grace  of  the  latter  part 
of  this  speech,  —  nothing  except  the  easy  unconsciousness 
with  which  she  glided  by  the  offered  chair  of  her  stammer- 
ing, embarrassed  host,  and  stood  beside  the  open  hearth. 

"  Barker  will  tell  you,"  she  continued,  warming  her  feet 
by  the  fire,  "  that  I  am  Miss  Portfire,  daughter  of  Major 
Portfire,  commanding  the  post.  Ah,  excuse  me,  child !  " 
(She  had  accidentally  trodden  upon  the  bare  yellow  toes  of 
the  Princess.)  "  Really,  I  did  not  know  you  were  there. 
I  am  very  near-sighted."  (In  confirmation  of  her  statement, 
she  put  to  her  eyes  a  dainty  double  eyeglass  that  dangled 
from  her  neck.)  "  It 's  a  shocking  thing  to  be  near-sighted, 
is  n't  it  ?  " 

If  the  shamefaced  uneasy  man  to  whom  this  remark  was 
addressed  could  have  found  words  to  utter  the  thought 
that  even  in  his  confusion  struggled  uppermost  in  his  mind, 
he  would,  looking  at  the  bold,  dark  eyes  that  questioned 
him,  have  denied  the  fact.  But  he  only  stammered,  "  Yes." 
The  next  moment,  however,  Miss  Portfire  had  apparently 
forgotten  him  and  was  examining  the  Princess  through  her 
glass. 

"  And  what  is  your  name,  child  ?  " 

The  Princess,  beatified  by  the  eyes  and  eyeglass,  showed 
all  her  white  teeth  at  once,  and  softly  scratched  her  leg. 

"  Bob." 


58  THE   PRINCESS   BOB  AND   HER  FRIENDS 

"  Bob  ?     What  a  singular  name  !  " 

Miss  Portfire's  host  here  hastened  to  explain  the  origin 
of  the  Princess's  title. 

"Then  you  are  Bob."     (Eyeglass.) 

"  No,  my  name  is  Grey,  —  John  Grey."  And  he  actually 
achieved  a  bow  where  awkwardness  was  rather  the  air  of 
imperfectly  recalling  a  forgotten  habit. 

"Grey?  — ah  !  let  me  see.  Yes,  certainly.  You  are 
Mr.  Grey,  the  recluse,  the  hermit,  the  philosopher,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  Why,  certainly,  Dr.  Jones,  our  surgeon, 
las  told  me  all  about  you.  Dear  me,  how  interesting  a 
"encontre  !  Lived  all  alone  here  for  seven  —  was  it  seven 
pears  ?  —  yes,  I  remember  now.  Existed  quite  au  naturel, 
one  might  say.  How  odd !  Not  that  I  know  anything 
about  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  I've  lived  always 
among  people,  and  am  really  quite  a  stranger,  I  assure  you. 
But  honestly,  Mr.  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  Mr.  Grey,  how 
do  you  like  it  ?  " 

She  had  quietly  taken  his  chair  and  thrown  her  cloak 
and  hood  over  its  back,  and  was  now  thoughtfully  removing 
her  gloves.  Whatever  were  the  arguments,  —  and  they 
were  doubtless  many  and  profound,  —  whatever  the  expe- 
rience, —  and  it  was  doubtless  hard  and  satisfying  enough, 
—  by  which  this  unfortunate  man  had  justified  his  life  for 
the  last  seven  years,  somehow  they  suddenly  became  trivial 
and  terribly  ridiculous  before  this  simple  but  practical 
question. 

"Well,  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  it  after  you  have 
given  me  something  to  eat.  We  will  have  time  enough ; 
Barker  cannot  find  his  way  back  in  this  fog  to-night.  Now 
don't  put  yourselves  to  any  trouble  on  my  account.  Barker 
will  assist." 

Barker  came  forward.  Glad  to  escape  the  scrutiny  of 
his  guest,  the  hermit  gave  a  few  rapid  directions  to  the 
Princess  in  her  native  tongue,  and  'Msr.opeared  in  the  shed. 


THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS  59 

Left  a  moment  alone,  Miss  Portfire  took  a  quick,  half- 
audible,  feminine  inventory  of  the  cabin.  "  Books,  guns, 
skins,  one  chair,  one  bed,  no  pictures,  and  no  looking- 
glass  !  "  She  took  a  book  from  the  swinging  shelf  and 
resumed  her  seat  by  the  fire  as  the  Princess  ree'ntered  with 
fresh  fuel.  But  while  kneeling  on  the  hearth  the  Princess 
chanced  to  look  up,  and  met  Miss  Portfire's  dark  eyes  over 
the  edge  of  her  book. 

"Bob!" 

The  Princess  showed  her  teeth. 

"  Listen !  Would  you  like  to  have  fine  clothes,  rings, 
and  beads  like  these,  to  have  your  hair  nicely  combed  and 
put  up  so  ?  Would  you  ?  " 

The  Princess  nodded  violently. 

"  Would  you  like  to  live  with  me  and  have  them  ? 
Answer  quickly.  Don't  look  round  for  him.  Speak  for 
yourself.  Would  you  ?  Hush  !  never  mind  now." 

The  hermit  ree'ntered,  and  the  Princess,  blinking,  re- 
treated into  the  shadow  of  the  whaleboat  shed,  from  which 
she  did  not  emerge  even  when  the  homely  repast  of  cold 
venison,  ship-biscuit,  and  tea  was  served.  Miss  Portfire 
noticed  her  absence.  "  You  really  must  not  let  me  interfere 
with  your  usual  simple  ways.  Do  you  know  this  is  exceed- 
ingly interesting  to  me,  so  pastoral  and  patriarchal,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  I  must  insist  upon  the  Princess  coming 
back  ;  really  I  must." 

But  the  Princess  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  shed,  and 
Miss  Portfire,  who  the  next  minute  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten all  about  her,  took  her  place  in  the  single  chair  be- 
fore an  extemporized  table.  Barker  stood  behind  her,  and 
the  hermit  leaned  against  the  fireplace.  Miss  Portfire's  ap- 
petite did  not  come  up  to  her  protestations.  For  the  first 
time  in  seven  years  it  occurred  to  the  hermit  that  his  ordi- 
nary victual  might  be  improved.  He  stammered  out  some 
thing  to  that  effect. 


60  THE   PRINCESS    BOB   AND    HER   FRIENDS 

"I  have  eaten  better  and  worse,"  said  Miss  Portfiie 
quietly. 

"  But  I  thought  you  —  that  is,  you  said  "  - 

"  I  spent  a  year  in  the  hospitals,  when  father  was  on  the 
Potomac,"  returned  Miss  Portfire  composedly.  After  a 
pause  she  continued  :  "  You  remember  after  the  second  Bull 
Run  —  but,  dear  me  !  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  of  course  you 
know  nothing  about  the  war,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
don't  care."  (She  put  up  her  eyeglass  and  quietly  sur- 
veyed his  broad,  muscular  figure  against  the  chimney.) 
"Or  perhaps  your  prejudices  —  but  then,  as  a  hermit,  you 
know,  you  have  no  politics,  of  course.  Please  don't  let  me 
bore  you." 

To  have  been  strictly  consistent,  the  hermit  should  have 
exhibited  no  interest  in  this  topic.  Perhaps  it  was  owing 
to  some  quality  in  the  narrator,  but  he  was  constrained  to 
beg  her  to  continue  in  such  phrases  as  his  unfamiliar  lips 
could  command.  So  that,  little  by  little,  Miss  Portfire 
yielded  up  incident  and  personal  observation  of  the  contest 
then  raging ;  with  the  same  half-abstracted,  half-uncon- 
cerned air  that  seemed  habitual  to  her,  she  told  the  stories 
of  privation,  of  suffering,  of  endurance,  and  of  sacrifice. 
With  the  same  assumption  of  timid  deference  that  concealed 
her  great,  self-control,  she  talked  of  principles  and  rights. 
Apparently  without  enthusiasm  and  without  effort,  of  which 
his  morbid  nature  would  have  been  suspicious,  she  sang  the 
great  American  Iliad  in  a  way  that  stirred  the  depths  of  her 
solitary  auditor  to  its  massive  foundations.  Then  she 
stopped  and  asked  quietly,  "  Where  is  Bob  ?  " 

The  hermit  started.  He  would  look  for  her.  But  Bob, 
for  some  reason,  was  not  forthcoming.  Search  was  made 
within  and  without  the  hut,  but  in  vain.  For  the  first 
time  that  evening  Miss  Portfire  showed  some  anxiety. 
"  Go,"  she  said  to  Barker,  "  and  find  her.  She  must  be 
found ;  stay,  give  me  your  overcoat,  I  '11  go  myself."  She 


THE    PRINCESS   BOB    AND    HER   FRIENDS  61 

threw  the  overcoat  over  her  shoulders  and  stepped  out  into 
the  night.  In  the  thick  veil  of  fog  that  seemed  suddenly 
to  enwrap  her,  she  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  and  then 
walked  toward  the  beach,  guided  by  the  low  wash  of  waters 
on  the  sand.  She  had  not  taken  many  steps  before  she 
stumbled  over  some  dark,  crouching  object.  Beaching  down 
her  hand,  she  felt  the  coarse,  wiry  mane  of  the  Princess 

"  Bob !  " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"Bob.     I've  been  looking  for  you,  come." 

"Go  'way." 

"  Nonsense,  Bob.  I  want  you  to  stay  with  me  to-night, 
come." 

"  Injin  squaw  no  good  for   waugee  woman.      Go  'way." 

"  Listen,  Bob.  You  are  daughter  of  a  chief :  so  am  I. 
Your  father  had  many  warriors :  so  has  mine.  It  is  good 
that  you  stay  with  me.  Come." 

The  Princess  chuckled  and  suffered  herself  to  be  lifted 
up.  A  few  moments  later  and  they  reentered  the  hut, 
hand  in  hand. 

With  the  first  red  streaks  of  dawn  the  next  day  the  erect- 
Barker  touched  his  cap  at  the  door  of  the  hut.  Beside 
him  stood  the  hermit,  also  just  risen  from  his  blanketed 
nest  in  the  sand.  Forth  from  the  hut,  fresh  as  the  morning 
air,  stepped  Miss  Portfire,  leading  the  Princess  by  the  hand. 
Hand  in  hand  also  they  walked  to  the  shore,  and  when  the 
Princess  had  been  safely  bestowed  in  the  stern  sheets,  Misp 
Portfire  turned  and  held  out  her  own  to  her  late  host. 

"  I  shall  take  the  best  of  care  of  her,  of  course.  You 
will  come  and  see  her  often.  I  should  ask  you  to  come 
And  see  me,  but  you  are  a  hermit,  you  know,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  But  if  it 's  the  correct  anchorite  thing,  and 
can  be  done,  my  father  will  be  glad  to  requite  you  for  this 
night's  hospitality.  But  don't  do  anything  on  my  account 
that  interferes  with  your  simple  habits.  Good-by." 


62  THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS 

She  handed  him  a  card,  which  he  took  mechanically. 

«  Good-by." 

The  sail  was  hoisted,  and  the  boat  shoved  off.  As  the 
fresh  morning  breeze  caught  the  white  canvas  it  seemed  to 
bow  a  parting  salutation.  There  was  a  rosy  flush  of  prom- 
ise on  the  water,  and  as  the  light  craft  darted  forward 
toward  the  ascending  sun,  it  seemed  for  a  moment  uplifted 
in  its  glory. 

Miss  Portfire  kept  her  word.  If  thoughtful  care  and  in- 
telligent kindness  could  regenerate  the  Princess,  her  future 
was  secure.  And  it  really  seemed  as  if  she  were  for  the 
first  time  inclined  to  heed  the  lessons  of  civilization,  and 
profit  by  her  new  condition.  ATI  agreeable  change  was  first 
noticed  in  her  appearance.  Her  laAvless  hair  was  caught  in 
a  net,  and  no  longer  strayed  over  her  low  forehead.  Her 
unstable  bust  was  stayed  and  upheld  by  French  corsets ; 
her  plantigrade  shuffle  was  limited  by  heeled  boots.  Her 
dresses  were  neat  and  clean,  and  she  wore  a  double  necklace 
of  glass  beads  With  this  physical  improvement  there  also 
seemed  some  moral  awakening.  She  no  longer  stole  nor 
lied.  With  the  possession  of  personal  property  came  a 
respect  for  that  of  others.  Witlj  increased  dependence  on 
the  word  of  those  about  her  came  a  thoughtful  consideration 
of  her  own.  Intellectually  she  was  still  feeble,  although  she 
grappled  sturdily  with  the  simple  lessons  which  Miss  Port- 
fire set  before  her.  But  her  zeal  and  simple  vanity  outran 
her  discretion,  and  she  would  often  sit  for  hours  with  an 
open  book  before  her,  which  she  could  not  read.  She  was  a 
favorite  with  the  officers  at  the  fort,  from  the  Major,  who 
shared  his  daughter's  prejudices  and  often  yielded  to  her 
powerful  self-will,  to  the  subalterns,  who  liked  her  none  the 
less  that  their  natural  enemies,  the  frontier  volunteers,  had 
declared  war  against  her  helpless  sisterhood.  The  only 
restraint  put  upon  her  was  the  limitation  of  her  liberty  to 


THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND    HER   FRIENDS  63 

the  inclosure  of  the  fort  and  parade  ;  and  only  once  did  she 
break  this  parole,  and  was  stopped  by  the  sentry  as  she 
stepped  into  a  boat  at  the  landing. 

The  recluse  did  not  avail  himself  of  Miss  Portfire's  invi- 
tation. But  after  the  departure  of  the  Princess  he  spent 
less  of  his  time  in  the  hut,  and  was  more  frequently  seen  in 
the  distant  marshes  of  Eel  River  and  on  the  upland  hills. 
A  feverish  restlessness,  quite  opposed  to  his  usual  phlegm, 
led  him  into  singular  freaks  strangely  inconsistent  with  his 
usual  habits  and  reputation.  The  purser  of  the  occasional 
steamer  which  stopped  at  Logport  with  the  mails  reported 
to  have  been  boarded,  just  inside  the  bar,  by  a  strange, 
bearded  man,  who  asked  for  a  newspaper  containing  the  last 
war  telegrams.  He  tore  his  red  shirt  into  narrow  strips, 
and  spent  two  days  with  his  needle  over  the  pieces  and  the 
tattered  remnant  of  his  only  white  garment ;  and  a  few  days 
afterward  the  fishermen  on  the  bay  were  surprised  to  see 
what,  on  nearer  approach,  proved  to  be  a  rude  imitation  of 
the  national  flag  floating  from  a  spar  above  the  hut. 

One  evening,  as  the  fog  began  to  drift  over  the  sand-hills, 
the  recluse  sat  alone  in  his  hut.  The  fire  was  dying  un- 
heeded on  the  hearth,  for  he  had  been  sitting  there  for  a 
long  time,  completely  absorbed  in  the  blurred  pages  of  an 
old  newspaper.  Presently  he  arose,  and,  refolding  it,  —  an 
operation  of  great  care  and  delicacy  in  its  tattered  condition, 
—  placed  it  under  the  blankets  of  his  bed.  He  resumed 
his  seat  by  the  fire,  but  soon  began  drumming  with  his  fin- 
gers on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Eventually  this  assumed  the 
time  and  accent  of  some  air.  Then  he  began  to  Avhistle 
softly  and  hesitatingly,  as  if  trying  to  recall  a  forgotten  tune. 
Finally  this  took  shape  in  a  rude  resemblance,  not  unlike 
that  which  his  flag  bore  to  the  national  standard,  to  Yankee 
Doodle.  Suddenly  he  stopped. 

There  was  an  unmistakable  rapping  at  the  door.  The 
blood  which  had  at  first  rushed  to  his  face  now  forsook  it 


64  THE   PRINCESS   BOB    AND   HER   FRIENDS 

and  settled  slowly  around  his  heart.  He  tried  to  rise,  "but 
could  not.  Then  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  a  figure 
•with  a  scarlet-lined  hood  and  fur  mantle  stood  on  the 
threshold.  With  a  mighty  effort  he  took  one  stride  to 
the  door.  The  next  moment  he  saw  the  wide  mouth  and 
•white  teeth  of  the  Princess,  and  was  greeted  by  a  kiss  that 
felt  like  a  baptism. 

To  tear  the  hood  and  mantle  from  her  figure  in  the 
sudden  fury  that  seized  him,  and  to  fiercely  demand  the 
reason  of  this  masquerade,  was  his  only  return  to  her  greet- 
ing. "  Why  are  you  here  ?  did  you  steal  these  garments  ?  " 
he  again  demanded  in  her  guttural  language,  as  he  shook 
her  roughly  by  the  arm.  The  Princess  hung  her  head. 
"  Did  you  ?  "  he  screamed,  as  he  reached  wildly  for  his 
rifle. 

"  I  did." 

His  hold  relaxed,  and  he  staggered  back  against  the  wall. 
The  Princess  began  to  whimper.  Between  her  sobs,  she 
was  trying  to  explain  that  the  Major  .and  his  daughter 
were  going  away,  and  that  they  wanted  to  send  her  to 
the  Reservation ;  but  he  cut  her  short.  "  Take  off  those 
things  !  "  The  Princess  tremblingly  obeyed.  He  rolled 
them  up,  placed  them  in  the  canoe  she  had  just  left,  and 
then  leaped  into  the  frail  craft.  She  would  have  followed, 
but  with  a  great  oath  he  threw  her  from  him,  and  with 
one  stroke  of  his  paddle  swept  out  into  the  fog,  and  was 
gone. 

"  Jessamy,"  said  the  Major,  a  few  days  after,  as  he  sat 
at  dinner  with  his  daughter,  "  I  think  I  can  tell  you  some- 
thing to  match  the  mysterious  disappearance  and  return  of 
your  wardrobe.  Your  crazy  friend,  the  recluse,  has  enlisted 
this  morning  in  the  Fourth  Artillery.  He's  a  splendid- 
looking  animal,  and  there  's  the  right  stuff  for  a  soldier  in 
him,  if  I  'm  not  mistaken.  He  's  in  earnest  too,  for  he 
eulists  in  the  regiment  ordered  back  to  Washington.  Bless 


THE    PRINCESS   BOB    AND    HER   FRIENDS  65 

me,  child,  another  goblet  broken  !  yon  '11  ruin  the  mess  in 
glassware,  at  this  rate." 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  more  of  the  Princess,  papa  ?  " 

"Nothing;  but  perhaps  it's  as  well  that  she  has  gone. 
These  cursed  settlers  are  at  their  old  complaints  again 
about  what  they  call  '  Indian  depredations,'  and  I  have 
just  received  orders  from  headquarters  to  keep  the  settle- 
ment clear  of  all  vagabond  aborigines.  I  am  afraid,  my 
dear,  that  a  strict  construction  of  the  term  would  include 
your  protegee." 

The  time  for  the  departure  of  the  Fourth  Artillery  had 
come.  The  night  before  was  thick  and  foggy.  At  one 
o'clock  a  shot  on  the  ramparts  called  out  the  guard  and 
roused  the  sleeping  garrison.  The  new  sentry,  Private 
Grey,  had  challenged  a  dusky  figure  creeping  on  the  glacis, 
and,  receiving  no  answer,  had  fired.  The  guard  sent  out 
presently  returned,  bearing  a  lifeless  figure  in  their  arms. 
The  new  sentry's  zeal,  joined  with  an  ex-frontiersman's 
aim,  was  fatal. 

They  laid  the  helpless,  ragged  form  before  the  guard- 
house door,  and  then  saw  for  the  first  time  that  it  was  the 
Princess.  Presently  she  opened  her  eyes.  They  fell  upon 
the  agonized  face  of  her  innocent  slayer,  but  haply  without 
intelligence  or  reproach. 

"  Georgy  !  "  she  whispered. 

"  Bob  ! " 

"  All 's  same  now.  Me  get  plenty  well  soon.  Me  make 
no  more  fuss.  Me  go  to  Keservation." 

Then  she  stopped,  a  tremor  ran  through  her  limbs,  and 
she  lay  still.  She  had  gone  to  the  Reservation.  Not  that 
devised  by  the  wisdom  of  man,  but  that  one  set  apart  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world,  for  the  wisest  as  well  as  the 
meanest  of  His  creatures. 


HOW  SANTA  GLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S 
BAR 

IT  had  been  raining  in  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento. 
The  North  Fork  had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  Rattlesnake 
Creek  was  impassable.  The  few  boulders  that  had  marked 
the  summer  ford  at  Simpson's  Crossing  were  obliterated 
by  a  vast  sheet  of  water  stretching  to  the  foothills.  The 
up-stage  was  stopped  at  Granger's ;  the  last  mail  had  been 
abandoned  in  the  tules,  the  rider  swimming  for  his  life. 
"  An  area,"  remarked  the  "  Sierra  Avalanche,"  with  pensive 
local  pride,  "  as  large  as  the  State  of  Massachusetts  is  now 
under  water." 

Nor  was  the  weather  any  better  in  the  foothills.  The 
mud  lay  deep  on  the  mountain  road ;  wagons  that  neither 
physical  force  nor  moral  objurgation  could  move  from  the 
evil  ways  into  which  they  had  fallen  encumbered  the  track, 
and  the  way  to  Simpson's  Bar  was  indicated  by  broken- 
down  teams  and  hard  swearing.  And  further  on,  cut  off 
and  inaccessible,  rained  upon  and  bedraggled,  smitten  by 
high  winds  and  threatened  by  high  water,  Simpson's  Bar, 
on  the  eve  of  Christmas  Day,  1862,  clung  like  a  swallow's 
nest  to  the  rocky  entablature  and  splintered  capitals  of 
Table  Mountain,  and  shook  in  the  blast. 

As  night  shut  down  on  the  settlement,  a  few  lights 
gleamed  through  the  mist  from  the  windows  of  cabins  on 
either  side  of  the  highway,  now  crossed  and  gullied  by 
lawless  streams  and  swept  by  marauding  winds.  Happily 
most  of  the  population  were  gathered  at  Thompson's  store, 
clustered  around  a  redhot  stove,  at  which  they  silently  spat 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME    TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR         6? 

in  some  accepted  sense  of  social  communion  that  perhaps 
rendered  conversation  unnecessary.  Indeed,  most  methods 
of  diversion  had  long  since  been  exhausted  on  Simpson's 
Bar ;  high  water  had  suspended  the  regular  occupations  on 
gulch  and  on  river,  and  a  consequent  lack  of  money  and 
whiskey  had  taken  the  zest  from  most  illegitimate  recrea- 
tion. Even  Mr.  Hamlin  was  fain  to  leave  the  Bar  with 
fifty  dollars  in  his  pocket  —  the  only  amount  actually  real- 
ized of  the  large  sums  won  by  him  in  the  successful  ex- 
ercise of  his  arduous  profession.  "  Ef  I  was  asked,"  he 
remarked  somewhat  later,  —  "ef  I  was  asked  to  pint  out 
a  purty  little  village  where  a  retired  sport  as  did  n't  care 
for  money  could  exercise  hisself,  frequent  and  lively,  I  'd 
say  Simpson's  Bar  ;  but  for  a  young  man  with  a  large 
family  depending  on  his  exertions,  it  don't  pay."  As  Mr. 
Hamlin's  family  consisted  mainly  of  female  adults,  this 
remark  is  quoted  rather  to  show  the  breadth  of  his  humor 
than  the  exact  extent  of  his  responsibilities. 

Howbeit,  the  unconscious  objects  of  this  satire  sat  that 
evening  in  the  listless  apathy  begotten  of  idleness  and  lack 
of  excitement.  Even  the  sudden  splashing  of  hoofs  before 
the  door  did  not  arouse  them.  Dick  Bullen  alone  paused 
in  the  act  of  scraping  out  his  pipe,  and  lifted  his  head,  but 
no  other  one  of  the  group  indicated  any  interest  in,  or 
recognition  of,  the  man  who  entered. 

It  was  a  figure  familiar  enough  to  the  company,  and 
known  in  Simpson's  Bar  as  "  The  Old  Man."  A  man  of 
perhaps  fifty  years ;  grizzled  and  scant  of  hair,  but  still 
fresh  and  youthful  of  complexion.  A  face  full  of  ready 
but  not  very  powerful  sympathy,  with  a  chameleon-like 
aptitude  for  taking  on  the  shade  and  color  of  contiguous 
moods  and  feelings.  He  had  evidently  just  left  some 
hilarious  companions,  and  did  not  at  first  notice  the  gravity 
of  the  group,  but  clapped  the  shoulder  of  the  nearest  man 
jocularly,  and  threw  himself  into  a  vacant  chair. 


68         HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO    SIMPSON'S   BAR 

"Jest  heard  the  best  thing  out,  boys  !  Ye  know  Smiley,. 
over  yar  —  Jim  Smiley  —  funniest  man  in  the  Bar  ?  Well, 
Jim  was  jest  telling  the  richest  yarn  about "  — 

"  Smiley  's  a fool,"  interrupted  a  gloomy  voice. 

"  A  particular skunk,"  added  another  in  sepulchral 

accents. 

A  silence  followed  these  positive  statements.  The  Old 
Man  glanced  quickly  around  the  group.  Then  his  face 
slowly  changed.  "  That 's  so,"  he  said  reflectively,  after  a 
pause,  "  certainly  a  sort  of  a  skunk  and  suthin'  of  a  fool. 
In  course."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  in  painful 
contemplation  of  the  unsavoriness  and  folly  of  the  un- 
popular Smiley.  "  Dismal  weather,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  added, 
now  fully  embarked  on  the  current  of  prevailing  sentiment. 
"  Mighty  rough  papers  on  the  boys,  and  no  show  for  money 
this  season.  And  to-morrow  's  Christmas." 

There  was  a  movement  among  the  men  at  this  announce- 
ment, but  whether  of  satisfaction  or  disgust  was  not  plain. 
"  Yes,"  continued  the  Old  Man  in  the  lugubrious  tone  he 
had,  within  the  last  few  moments,  unconsciously  adopted, 
—  "yes,  Christmas,  and  to-night's  Christmas  Eve.  Ye  see, 
boys,  I  kinder  thought  —  that  is,  I  sorter  had  an  idee,  jest 
passin'  like,  you  know  —  that  maybe  ye  'd  all  like  to  come 
over  to  my  house  to-night  and  have  a  sort  of  tear  round. 
But  I  suppose,  now,  you  would  n't  ?  Don't  feel  like  it, 
maybe  ?  "  he  added  with  anxious  sympathy,  peering  into 
the  faces  of  his  companions. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Tom  Flynn  with  some 
cheerfulness.  "  P'r'aps  we  may.  But  how  about  your  wife, 
Old  Man  ?  What  does  she  say  to  it  ?  " 

The  Old  Man  hesitated.  His  conjugal  experience  had 
not  been  a  happy  one,  and  the  fact  was  known  to  Simpson's 
Bar.  His  first  wife,  a  delicate,  pretty  little  woman,  had 
suffered  keenly  and  secretly  from  the  jealous  suspicions  of 
her  husband,  until  one  day  he  invited  the  whole  Bar  to  his 


HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO    SIMPSON'S   BAR         63 

house  to  expose  her  infidelity.  On  arriving,  the  party  found 
the  shy,  petite  creature  quietly  engaged  in  her  household 
duties,  and  retired  abashed  and  discomfited.  But  the  sensi- 
tive woman  did  not  easily  recover  from  the  shock  of  this 
extraordinary  outrage.  It  was  with  difficulty  she  regained 
her  equanimity  sufficiently  to  release  her  lover  from  the 
closet  in  which  he  was  concealed,  and  escape  with  him. 
She  left  a  boy  of  three  years  to  comfort  her  bereaved  hus- 
band. The  Old  Man's  present  wife  had  been  his  cook. 
She  was  large,  loyal,  and  aggressive. 

Before  he  could  reply,  Joe  Dimmick  suggested  with 
great  directness  that  it  was  the  "  Old  Man's  house,"  and 
that,  invoking  the  Divine  Power,  if  the  case  were  his  own, 
he  would  invite  whom  he  pleased,  even  if  in  so  doing  he 
imperiled  his  salvation.  The  Powers  of  Evil,  he  further 
remarked,  should  contend  against  him  vainly.  All  this 
delivered  with  a  terseness  and  vigor  lost  in  this  necessary 
translation. 

"  In  course.  Certainly.  Thet  's  it,"  said  the  Old  Man 
with  a  sympathetic  frown.  "  Thar  's  no  trouble  about  thet. 
It 's  my  own  house,  built  every  stick  on  it  myself.  Don't 
you  be  afeard  o'  her,  boys.  She  may  cut  up  a  trifle  rough 
—  ez  wimmin  do  —  but  she  '11  come  round."  Secretly 
the  Old  Man  trusted  to  the  exaltation  of  liquor  and  the 
power  of  courageous  example  to  sustain  him  in  such  an 
emergency. 

As  yet,  Dick  Bullen,  the  oraule  and  leader  of  Simpson's 
Bar,  had  not  spoken.  He  now  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips, 
"  Old  Man,  how  's  that  yer  Johnny  gettin'  on  ?  Seems  to 
me  he  did  n't  look  so  peart  last  time  I  seed  him  on  the 
bluff  heavin'  rocks  at'  Chinamen.  Did  n't  seem  to  take 
much  interest  in  it.  Thar  was  a  gang  of  'em  by  yar  yester- 
day —  drownded  out  up  the  river  —  and  I  kinder  thought 
o'  Johnny,  and  how  he  'd  miss  'em  !  Maybe  now-  we  'd  be 
in  the  way  ef  he  wus  sick  ?  " 


70         HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON  S   BAR 

The  father,  evidently  touched  not  only  by  this  pathetic 
picture  of  Johnny's  deprivation,  but  by  the  considerate  deli- 
cacy of  the  speaker,  hastened  to  assure  him  that  Johnny 
was  better,  and  that  a  "little  fun  might  'liven  him  up." 
Whereupon  Dick  arose,  shook  himself,  and  saying,  "I'm 
ready.  Lead  the  way,  Old  Man  :  here  goes,"  himself  led 
the  way  with  a  leap,  a  characteristic  howl,  and  darted  out 
into  the  night.  As  he  passed  through  the  outer  room  he 
caught  up  a  blazing  brand  from  the  hearth.  The  action 
was  repeated  by  the  rest  of  the  party,  closely  following 
and  elbowing  each  other,  and  before  the  astonished  propri- 
etor of  Thompson's  grocery  was  aware  of  the  intention  of 
his  guests,  the  room  was  deserted. 

The  night  was  pitchy  dark.  In  the  first  gust  of  wind 
their  temporary  torches  were  extinguished,  and  only  the  red 
brands  dancing  and  flitting  in  the  gloom  like  drunken  M'ill- 
o'-the-wisps  indicated  their  whereabouts.  Their  way  led 
up  Pine-Tree  Canon,  at  the  head  of  which  a  broad,  low, 
bark-thatched  cabin  burrowed  in  the  mountain-side.  It 
was  the  home  of  the  Old  Man,  and  the  entrance  to  the 
tunnel  in  which  he  worked  when  he  worked  at  all.  Here 
the  crowd  paused  for  a  moment,  out  of  delicate  deference 
to  their  host,  who  came  up  panting  in  the  rear. 

"  P'r'aps  ye  'd  better  hold  on  a  second  out  yer,  whilst  1 
go  in  and  see  that  things  is  all  right,"  said  the  Old  Man, 
with  an  indifference  he  was  far  from  feeling.  The  sugges- 
tion was  graciously  accepted,  the  door  opened  and  closed  on 
the  host,  and  the  crowd,  leaning  their  backs  against  the 
wall  and  cowering  under  the  eaves,  waited  and  listened. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  no  sound  but  the  dripping 
of  water  from  the  eaves,  and  the  stir 'and  rustle  of  wrestling 
boughs  above  them.  Then  the  men  became  uneasy,  and 
whispered  suggestion  and  suspicion  passed  from  the  one  to 
the  other.  "Reckon  she's  caved  in  his  head  the  first 
lick!"  "Decoyed  him  inter  the  tunnel  and  barred  him 


HOW   SANTA   CLAUS    CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR         71 

up,  likely."  "  Got  him  down  and  sittin'  on  him."  "  Prob'ly 
biling  suthin'  to  heave  on  us  :  stand  clear  the  door,  boys  !  " 
For  just  then  the  latch  clicked,  the  door  slowly  opened, 
and  a  voice  said,  "  Come  in  out  o'  the  wet." 

The  voice  was  neither  that  of  the  Old  Man  nor  of  his 
wife.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  small  boy,  its  weak  treble 
broken  by  that  preternatural  hoarseness  which  only  vaga- 
bondage and  the  habit  of  premature  self-assertion  can  give. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  small  boy  that  looked  up  at  theirs,  — 
a  face  that  might  have  been  pretty,  and  even  refined,  but 
that  it  was  darkened  by  evil  knowledge  from  within,  and 
dirt  and  hard  experience  from  without.  He  had  a  blanket 
around  his  shoulders,  and  had  evidently  just  risen  from  his 
bed.  "Come  in,"  he  repeated,  "and  don't  make  no  noise. 
The  Old  Man  's  in  there  talking  to  mar,"  he  continued, 
pointing  to  an  adjacent  room  which  seemed  to  be  a  kitchen, 
from  Avhich  the  Old  Man's  voice  came  in  deprecating  ac- 
cents. "  Let  me  be,"  he  added  querulously,  to  Dick  Bul- 
len,  who  had  caught  him  up,  blanket  and  all,  and  was 
affecting  to  toss  him  into  the  fire,  "  let  go  o'  me,  you  d — d 
old  fool,  d'  ye  hear  ?  " 

Thus  adjured,  Dick  Bullen  lowered  Johnny  to  the 
ground  with  a  smothered  laugh,  while  the  men,  entering 
quietly,  ranged  themselves  around  a  long  table  of  rough 
boards  which  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room.  Johnny 
then  gravely  proceeded  to  a  cupboard  and  brought  out  sev- 
eral articles,  which  he  deposited  on  the  table.  "Thar's 
whiskey.  And  crackers.  And  red  herons.  And  cheese." 
He  took  a  bite  of  the  latter  on  his  way  to  the  table.  "  And 
sugar."  He  scooped  up  a  mouthful  en  route  with  a  small 
and  very  dirty  hand.  "  And  terbacker.  Thar 's  dried 
appils  too  on  the  shelf,  but  I  don't  admire  'em.  Appils  is 
swellin'.  Thar,"  he  concluded,  "now  wade  in,  and  don't 
be  afeard.  /  don't  mind  the  old  woman.  She  don't  b'long 
to  me.  S'long." 


72         HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO    SIMPSONS    BAR 

He  had  stepped  to  the  threshold  of  a  small  room,  scarcely 
larger  than  a  closet,  partitioned  off  from  the  main  apart- 
ment, and  holding  in  its  dim  recess  a  small  bed.  He  stood 
there  a  moment  looking  at  the  company,  his  bare  feet  peep- 
ing from  the  blanket,  and  nodded. 

"  Hello,  Johnny  !  You  ain't  goin'  to  turn  in  agin,  are 
ye  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  Yes,  I  are,"  responded  Johnny  decidedly. 

"  Why,  wot 's  up,  old  fellow  ?  " 

"  I  'm  sick." 

"  How  sick  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  a  fevier.  And  childblains.  And  roomatiz," 
returned  Johnny,  and  vanished  within.  After  a  moment's 
pause,  he  added  in  the  dark,  apparently  from  under  the 
bedclothes,  —  "  And  biles  !  " 

There  was  an  embarrassing  silence.  The  men  looked  at 
each  other  and  at  the  fire.  Even  with  the  appetizing  ban- 
quet before  them,  it  seemed  as  if  they  might  again  fall  into 
the  despondency  of  Thompson's  grocery,  when  the  voice  of 
the  Old  Man,  incautiously  lifted,  came  deprecatingly  from 
the  kitchen. 

"  Certainly  !  Thet  's  so.  In  course  they  is.  A  gang 
o'  lazy,  drunken  loafers,  and  that  ar  Dick  Bullen  's  the 
ornariest  of  all.  Did  n't  hev  no  more  sabe  than  to  come 
round  yar  with  sickness  in  the  house  and  no  provision. 
Thet 's  what  I  said  :  '  Bullen,'  sez  I,  '  it 's  crazy  drunk  you 
are,  or  a  fool,'  sez  I,  'to  think  o'  such  a  thing.'  <  Staples,' 
I  sez,  'be  you  a  man,  Staples,  and  'spect  to  raise  h — 11 
under  my  roof  and  invalids  lyin'  round  ? '  But  they  would 
come,  —  they  would.  Thet 's  wot  you  must  'spect  o'  such 
trash  as  lays  round  the  Bar." 

A  burst  of  laughter  from  the  men  followed  this  unfortu- 
nate exposure.  Whether  it  was  overheard  in  the  kitchen, 
or  whether  the  Old  Man's  irate  companion  had  just  then 
exhausted  all  other  modes  of  expressing  her  contemptuous 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME    TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR         73 

indignation,  I  cannot  say,  but  a  back  door  was  suddenly 
slammed  with  great  violence.  A  moment  later  and  the 
Old  Man  reappeared,  haply  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  the 
late  hilarious  outburst,  and  smiled  blandly. 

"  The  old  woman  thought  she  'd  jest  run  over  to  Mrs. 
MacFadden's  for  a  sociable  call,"  he  explained  with  jaunty 
indifference,  as  he  took  a  seat  at  the  board. 

Oddly  enough  it  needed  this  untoward  incident  to  re- 
lieve the  embarrassment  that  was  beginning  to  be  felt  by 
the  party,  and  their  natural  audacity  returned  with  their 
host.  I  do  not  propose  to  record  the  convivialities  of  that 
evening.  The  inquisitive  reader  will  accept  the  statement 
that  the  conversation  was  characterized  by  the  same  intel- 
lectual exaltation,  the  same  cautious  reverence,  the  same 
fastidious  delicacy,  the  same  rhetorical  precision,  and  the 
same  logical  and  coherent  discourse  somewhat  later  in  the 
evening,  which  distinguish  similar  gatherings  of  the  mascu- 
line sex  in  more  civilized  localities  and  under  more  favor- 
able auspices.  No  glasses  were  broken  in  the  absence  of 
any  ;  no  liquor  was  uselessly  spilt  on  the  floor  or  table  in 
the  scarcity  of  that  article. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  festivities  were  inter- 
rupted. "  Hush,"  said  Dick  Bullen,  holding  up  his  hand. 
It  was  the  querulous  voice  of  Johnny  from  his  adjacent 
closet :  "  0  dad  !  " 

The  Old  Man  arose  hurriedly  and  disappeared  in  the 
closet.  Presently  he  reappeared.  "  His  rheumatiz  is  com- 
ing on  agin  bad,"  he  explained,  "and  he  wants  rubbin'." 
He  lifted  the  demijohn  of  whiskey  from  the  table  and 
shook  it.  It  was  empty.  Dick  Bullen  put  down  his  tin 
cup  with  an  embarrassed  laugh.  So  did  the  others.  The 
Old  Man  examined  their  contents  and  said  hopefully,  "  I 
reckon  that 's  enough  ;  he  don't  need  much.  You  hold  on 
all  o'  you  for  a  spell,  and  I  '11  be  back ;  "  and  vanished  in 
the  closet  with  an  old  flannel  shirt  and  the  whiskey.  The 


74         HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR 
door  closed  but  imperfectly,  and  the  following  dialogue  was 
distinctly  audible  : 

"  Now,  sonny,  whar  does  she  ache  worst  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  over  yar  and  sometimes  under  yer  ;  but  it 's 
most  powerful  from  yer  to  yer.  Rub  yer,  dad." 

A  silence  seemed  to  indicate  a  brisk  rubbing.  Then 
Johnny : 

"  Hevin'  a  good  time  out  yer,  dad  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sonny." 

"  To-morrer  's  Chrism iss,  —  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sonny.     How  does  she  feel  now  ?  " 

"  Better.  Rub  a  little  furder  down.  Wot 's  Chrismiss, 
anyway  ?  Wot 's  it  all  about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  a  day." 

This  exhaustive  definition  was  apparently  satisfactory,  for 
there  was  a  silent  interval  of  rubbing.  Presently  Johnny 
again  : 

"  Mar  sez  that  everywhere  else  but  yer  everybody  gives 
things  to  everybody  Chrismiss,  and  then  shejist  waded  inter 
you.  She  sez  thar  's  a  man  they  call  Sandy  Claws,  not  a 
white  man,  you  know,  but  a  kind  o'  Chinemin,  comes  down 
the  chimbley  night  afore  Chrismiss  and  gives  things  to 
chillern,  —  boys  like  me.  Puts  'em  in  their  butes  !  Thet  's 
what  she  tried  to  play  upon  me.  Easy  now,  pop,  whar  are 
you  rubbin'  to,  —  thet  's  a  mile  from  the  place.  She  jest 
made  that  up,  did  n't  she,  jest  to  aggrewate  me  and  you  ? 
Don't  rub  thar.  .  .  .  Why,  dad !  " 

In  the  great  quiet  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the 
house  the  sigh  of  the  near  pines  and  the  drip  of  leaves 
without  was  very  distinct.  Johnny's  voice,  too,  was 
lowered  as  he  went  on,  "  Don't  you  take  on  now,  for  I  'm 
gettin'  all  right  fast.  Wot 's  the  boys  doin'  out  thar  ?  " 

The  Old  Man  partly  opened  the  door  and  peered  through. 
His  guests  were  sitting  there  sociably  enough,  and  there 
vere  a  few  silver  coins  and  a  lean  buckskin  purse  on  the 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR         75 

table.  "  Bettin'  on  suthin'  —  some  little  game  or  'nother 
They  're  all  right,"  he  replied  to  Johnny,  and  recommenced 
his  rubbing. 

"  I  'd  like  to  take  a  hand  and  win  some  money/'  said 
Johnny  reflectively  after  a  pause. 

The  Old  Man  glibly  repeated  what  was  evidently  a 
familiar  formula,  that  if  Johnny  would  wait  until  he  struck 
it  rich  in  the  tunnel  he  'd  have  lots  of  money,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Yes," -said  Johnny,  "but  you  don't.  And  whether 
you  strike  it  or  I  win  it,  it 's  atxmt  the  same.  It 's  all 
luck.  But  it 's  mighty  cur'o's  about  Chrismiss  —  ain't  it  ? 
Why  do  they  call  it  Chrismiss  ?  " 

Perhaps  from  some  instinctive  deference  to  the  overhear- 
ing of  his  guests,  or  from  some  vague  sense  of  incongruity, 
the  Old  Man's  reply  was  so  low  as  to  be  inaudible  beyond 
the  room. 

"  Yes,"  said  Johnny,  with  some  slight  abatement  of 
interest,  "  I  've  heerd  o'  him  before.  Thar,  that  '11  do, 
dad.  I  don't  ache  near  so  bad  as  I  did.  Now  wrap  me 
tight  in  this  yer  blanket.  So.  Now,"  he  added  in  a 
muffled  whisper,  "  sit  down  yer  by  me  till  I  go  asleep." 
To  assure  himself  of  obedience,  he  disengaged  one  hand 
from  the  blanket,  and,  grasping  his  father's  sleeve,  again 
composed  himself  to  rest. 

For  some  moments  the  Old  Man  waited  patiently.  Then 
the  unwonted  stillness  of  the  house  excited  his  curiosity, 
and  without  moving  from  the  bed  he  cautkmsly  opened  the 
door  with  his  disengaged  hand,  and  looked  into  the  main 
room.  To  >his  infinite  surprise  it  was  dark  and  deserted. 
But  even  then  a  smouldering  log  on  the  hearth  broke,  and 
by  the  upspringing  blaze  he  saw  the  figure  of  Dick  Bullen 
sitting  by  the  dying  embers. 

"Hello.!" 

Dick  started,  rose,  and  came  somewhat  unsteadily  toward 
him. 


76         HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   T&    SIMPSON'S    BAR 

'-  Whar  's  the  boys  ?  "  said  the  Old  Man. 

"Gone  up  the  canon  on  a  little  pasear.  They  're 
coming  back  for  me  in  a  minit.  I  'm  waitin'  round  for 'era. 
What  are  you  starin'  at,  Old  Man  ?  "  he  added,  with  a 
forced  laugh  ;  "  do  you  think  I  'm  drunk  ?  " 

The  Old  Man  might  have  been  pardoned  the  supposition, 
for  Dick's  eyes  were  humid  and  his  face  flushed.  He 
loitered  and  lounged  back  to  the  chimney,  yawned,  shook 
himself,  buttoned  up  his  coat  and  laughed.  "  Liquor  ain't 
so  plenty  as  that.  Old  Man.  Now  don't  you  git  up,"  he 
continued,  as  the  Old  Man  made  a  movement  to  release  his 
sleeve  from  Johnny's  hand.  "  Don't  you  mind  manners. 
Sit  jest  whar  you  be ;  I  'm  goin'  in  a  jiffy.  Thar,  that 's 
them  now." 

There  was  a  low  tap  at  the  door.  Dick  Bullen  opened 
it  quickly,  nodded  "Good- night"  to  his  host,  and  disap- 
peared. The  Old  Man  would  have  followed  him  but  for 
the  hand  that  still  unconsciously  grasped  his  sleeve.  He 
could  have  easily  disengaged  it :  it  was  small,  weak,  and 
emaciated.  But  perhaps  because  it  was  small,  weak,  and 
emaciated  he  changed  his  mind,  and,  drawing  his  chair 
closer  to  the  bed,  rested  his  head  upon  it.  In  this  defense- 
less attitude  the  potency  of  his  earlier  potations  surprised 
him.  The  room  flickered  and  faded  before  his  eyes,  reap- 
peared, faded  again,  went  out,  and  left  him  —  asleep. 

Meantime  Dick  Bullen,  closing  the  door,  confronted  his 
companions.  "  Are  you  ready  ?  "  said  Staples.  "  Ready," 
said  Dick  ;  "  what 's  the  time  ?  "  "  Past  twelve,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "  can  you  make  it  ?  —  it 's  nigh  on  fifty  miles,  the 
round  trip  hither  and  yon."  "I  reckon,"  returned  Dick 
shortly.  "Whar's  the  mare?"  "Bill  and  Jack's 
holdin'  her  at  the  crossin'."  "  Let  'em  hold  on  a  minit 
longer/'  said  Dick. 

He  turned  and  reentered  the  house  softly.  By  the  light 
of  the  guttering  candle  and  dying  fire  he  saw  that  the  door 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S   BAR         77 

of  the  little  room  was  open.  He  stepped  toward  it  on  tip- 
toe and  looked  in.  The  Old  Man  had  fallen  back  in  his 
chair,  snoring,  his  helpless  feet  thrust  out  in  a  line  with  his 
collapsed  shoulders,  and  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes. 
Beside  him,  on  a  narrow  wooden  bedstead,  lay  Johnny, 
muffled  tightly  in  a  blanket  that  hid  all  save  a  strip  of 
forehead  and  a  few  curls  damp  with  perspiration.  Dick 
Bullen  made  a  step  forward,  hesitated,  and  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  into  the  deserted  room.  Everything  was  quiet. 
With  a  sudden  resolution  he  parted  his  huge  mustaches 
with  both  hands  and  stooped  over  the  sleeping  boy.  But 
even  as  he  did  so  a  mischievous  blast,  lying  in  wait,  swooped 
down  the  chimney,  rekindled  the  hearth,  and  lit  up  the 
room  with  a  shameless  glow  from  which  Dick  fled  in  bash- 
ful terror. 

His  companions  were  already  waiting  for  him  at  the 
crossing.  Two  of  them  were  struggling  in  the  darkness 
with  some  strange  misshapen  bulk,  which  as  Dick  came 
nearer  took  the  semblance  of  a  great  yellow  horse. 

It  was  the  mare.  She  was  not  a  pretty  picture.  From 
her  Roman  nose  to  her  rising  haunches,  from  her  arched 
spine  hidden  by  the  stiff  machillas  of  a  Mexican  saddle,  to 
her  thick,  straight  bony  legs,  there  was  not  a  line  of  equine 
grace.  In  her  half-blind  but  wholly  vicious  white  eyes,  in 
her  protruding  under-lip,  in  her  monstrous  color,  there  was 
nothing  but  ugliness  and  vice. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Staples,  "  stand  cl'ar  of  her  heels, 
boys,  and  up  with  you.  Don't  miss  your  first  holt  of  her 
mane,  and  mind  ye  get  your  off  stirrup  quick.  Ready  ! " 

There  was  a  leap,  a  scrambling  struggle,  a  bound,  a  wild 
retreat  of  the  crowd,  a  circle  of  flying  hoofs,  two  springless 
ieaps  that  jarred  the  earth,  a  rapid  play  and  jingle  of  spurs, 
a  plunge,  and  then  the  voice  of  Dick  somewhere  in  the 
darkness.  "  All  right !  " 

u  Don't  take   the  lower  road   back  onless  you  're   hard 


78         HOW    SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR 

pushed  for  time  !     Don't  hold  her  in  down  hill     We  '11  be 
at  the  ford  at  five.     Gr'lang  !  Hoopa  !  Mula  !   GO  !  " 

A  splash,  a  spark  struck  from  the  ledge  in  the  road,  a 
clatter  in  the  rocky  cut  beyond,  and  Dick  was  gone. 

Sing,  0  Muse,  the  ride  of  Eichard  Bullen  !  Sing,  0 
Muse,  of  chivalrous  men  !  the  sacred  quest,  the  doughty 
deeds,  the  battery  of  low  churls,  the  fearsome  ride  and  grue- 
some perils  of  the  Flower  of  Simpson's  Bar  !  Alack  !  she 
is  dainty,  this  Muse  !  She  will  have  none  of  this  bucking 
brute  and  swaggering,  ragged  rider,  and  I  must  fain  follow 
him  in  prose,  afoot ! 

It  was  one  o'clock,  and  yet  he  had  only  gained  Rattle- 
snake Hill.  For  in  that  time  Jovita  had  rehearsed  to  him 
all  her  imperfections  and  practiced  all  her  vices.  Thrice 
had  she  stumbled.  Twice  had  she  thrown  up  her  Eoman 
nose  in  a  straight  line  with  the  reins,  and,  resisting  bit  and 
spur,  struck  out  madly  across  country.  Twice  had  she 
reared,  and,  rearing,  fallen  backward ;  and  twice  had  the 
agile  Dick,  unharmed,  regained  his  seat  before  she  found 
her  vicious  legs  again.  And  a  mile  beyond  them,  at  the 
foot  of  a  long  hill,  was  Rattlesnake  Creek.  Dick  knew  that 
here  was  the  crucial  test  of  his  ability  to  perform  his  enter- 
prise, set  his  teeth  grimly,  put  his  knees  well  into  her 
flanks,  and  changed  his  defensive  tactics  to  brisk  aggression. 
Bullied  and  maddened,  Jovita  began  the  descent  of  the  hill. 
Here  the  artful  Richard  pretended  to  hold  her  in  with 
ostentatious  objurgation  and  well-feigned  cries  of  alarm. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  Jovita  instantly  ran  away. 
Nor  need  I  state  the  time  made  in  the  descent ;  it  is  written 
in  the  chronicles  of  Simpson's  Bar.  Enough  that  in  another 
moment,  as  it  seemed  to  Dick,  she  was  splashing  on  the 
overflowed  banks  of  Rattlesnake  Creek.  As  Dick  expected, 
the  momentum  she  had  acquired  earned  her  beyond  the 
point  of  balking,  and,  holding  her  well  together  for  a 


HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR         79 

mighty  leap,  they  dashed  into  the  middle  of  the  swiftly 
flowing  current.  A  few  moments  of  kicking,  wading,  and 
swimming,  and  Dick  drew  a  long  breath  on  the  opposite 
bank. 

The  road  from  Eattlesnake  Creek  to  Bed  Mountain  was 
tolerably  level.  Either  the  plunge  in  Eattlesnake  Creek 
had  dampened  her  baleful  fire,  or  the  art  which  led  to  it 
had  shown  her  the  superior  wickedness  of  her  rider,  for 
Jovita  no  longer  wasted  her  surplus  energy  in  wanton  con- 
ceits. Once  she  bucked,  but  it  was  from  force  of  habit ; 
once  she  shied,  but  it  was  from  a  new,  freshly  painted  meet- 
ing-house at  the  crossing  of  the  county  road.  Hollows, 
ditches,  gravelly  deposits,  patches  of  freshly  springing  grasses, 
flew  from  beneath  her  rattling  hoofs.  She  began  to  smell 
unpleasantly,  once  or  twice  she  coughed  slightly,  but  there 
was  no  abatement  of  her  strength  or  speed.  By  two  o'clock 
he  had  passed  Red  Mountain  and  begun  the  descent  to 
the  plain.  Ten  minutes  later  the  driver  of  the  fast  Pioneer 
coach  was  overtaken  and  passed  by  a  "  man  on  a  Pinto 
hoss,"  —  an  event  sufficiently  notable  for  remark.  At  half 
past  two  Dick  rose  in  'his  stirrups  with  a  great  shout.  Stars 
were  glittering  through  the  rifted  clouds,  and  beyond  him, 
out  of  the  plain,  rose  two  spires,  a  flagstaff,  and  a  straggling 
line  of  black  objects.  Dick  jingled  his  spurs  and  swung 
his  ri<tta.,  Jovita  bounded  forward,  and  in  another  moment 
they  swept  into  Tuttleville,  and  di'ew  up  before  the  wooden 
piazza  of  "The  Hotel  of  All  Nations." 

What  transpired  that  night  at  Tuttleville  is  not  strictly  a 
part  of  this  record.  Briefly  I  may  state,  however,  that  after 
Jovita  had  been  handed  over  to  a  sleepy  ostler,  whom  she 
at  once  kicked  into  unpleasant  consciousness,  Dick  sallied 
out  with  the  barkeeper  for  a  tour  of  the  sleeping  town. 
Lights  still  gleamed  from  a  few  saloons  and  gambling-houses  ; 
but,  avoiding  these,  they  stopped  before  several  closed  shops, 
and  by  persistent  tapping  and  judicious  outcry  roused  the 


80         HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSONS   BAtt 

proprietors  from  their  beds,  and  made  them  unbar  the  doors 
of  their  magazines  and  expose  their  wares.  Sometimes  they 
were  met  by  curses,  but  oftener  by  interest  and  some  con- 
cern in  their  needs,  and  the  interview  was  invariably  con- 
cluded by  a  drink.  It  was  three  o'clock  before  this  pleas 
antry  was  given  over,  and  with  a  small  waterproof  bag  of 
India-rubber  strapped  on  his  shoulders,  Dick  returned  tc 
the  hotel.  But  here  he  was  waylaid  by  Beauty,  —  Beauty 
opulent  in  charms,  affluent  in  dress,  persuasive  in  speech, 
and  Spanish  in  accent !  In  vain  she  repeated  the  invitation 
in  "  Excelsior,"  happily  scorned  by  all  Alpine-climbing 
youth,  and  rejected  by  this  child  of  the  Sierras,  —  a  rejection 
softened  in  this  instance  by  a  laugh  and  his  last  gold  coin. 
And  then  he  sprang  to  the  saddle  and  dashed  down  the 
lonely  street  and  out  into  the  lonelier  plain,  where  presently 
the  lights,  the  black  line  of  houses,  the  spires,  and  the  flag- 
staff sank  into  the  earth  behind  him  again  and  were  lost  in 
the  distance. 

The  storm  had  cleared  away,  the  air  was  brisk  and  cold, 
the  outlines  of  adjacent  landmarks  were  distinct,  but  it  was 
half-past  four  before  Dick  reached  the  meeting-house  and 
the  crossing  of  the  county  road.  To  avoid  the  rising  grade 
he  had  taken  a  longer  and  more  circuitous  road,  in  whose 
viscid  mud  Jovita  sank  fetlock  deep  at  every  bound.  It 
was  a  poor  preparation  for  a  steady  ascent  of  five  miles 
more ;  but  Jovita,  gathering  her  legs  under  her,  took  it 
with  her  usual  blind,  unreasoning  fury,  and  a  half-hour  later 
reached  the  long  level  that  led  to  Rattlesnake  Creek. 
Another  half-hour  would  bring  him  to  the  creek.  He  threw 
the  reins  lightly  upon  the  neck  of  the  mare,  chirruped  to 
her,  and  began  to  sing. 

Suddenly  Jovita  shied  with  a  bound  that  would  have 
unseated  a  less  practiced  rider.  Hanging  to  her  rein  was  a 
figure  that  had  leaped  from  the  bank,  and  at  the  same  time 
from  the  road  before  her  arose  a  shadowy  horsf  and  rider 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR         81 

"  Throw  tip  your  hands/'  commanded  the  second  appari- 
tion, with  an  oath. 

Dick  felt  the  mare  tremble,  quiver,  and  apparently  sink 
under  him.  He  knew  what  it  meant  and  was  prepared. 

"  Stand  aside,  Jack  Simpson.  I  know  you,  you  d — d 
thief  !  Let  me  pass,  or  "  — 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Jovita  rose  straight  in 
the  air  with  a  terrific  bound,  throwing  the  figure  from  her 
bit  with  a  single  shake  of  her  vicious  head,  and  charged 
with  deadly  malevolence  down  on  the  impediment  before 
her.  An  oath,  a  pistol-shot,  horse  and  highwayman  rolled 
over  in  the  road,  and  the  next  moment  Jovita  was  a  hundred 
yards  away.  But  the  good  right  arm  of  her  rider,  shattered 
by  a  bullet,  dropped  helplessly  at  his  side. 

Without  slacking  his  speed  he  shifted  the  reins  to  his  left 
hand.  But  a  few  moments  later  he  was  obliged  to  halt  and 
tighten  the  saddle-girths  that  had  slipped  in  the  onset. 
This  in  his  crippled  condition  took  some  time.  He  had 
no  fear  of  pursuit,  but  looking  up  he  saw  that  the  eastern 
stars  were  already  paling,  and  that  the  distant  peaks  had 
lost  their  ghostly  whiteness,  and  now  stood  out  blackly 
against  a  lighter  sky.  Day  was  upon  him.  Then  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  a  single  idea,  he  forgot  the  pain  of  his 
wound,  and  mounting  again  dashed  on  toward  Rattlesnake 
Creek.  But  now  Jovita's  breath  came  broken  by  gasps, 
Dick  reeled  in  his  saddle,  and  brighter  and  brighter  grew 
the  sky. 

Ride,  Richard  ;   run,  Jovita ;   linger,  0  day  ! 

For  the  last  few  rods  there  was  a  roaring  in  his  ears. 
Was  it  exhaustion  from  loss  of  blood,  or  what  ?  He  was 
dazed  and  giddy  as  he  swept  down  the  hill,  and  did  not 
recognize  his  surroundings.  Had  he  taken  the  wrong  road, 
or  was  this  Rattlesnake  Creek  ? 

It  was.  But  the  brawling  creek  he  had  swam  a  few 
h°urs  before  had  risen,  more  than  doubled  its  volume,  and 


82         HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSONS   BAR 

now  rolled  a  swift  and  resistless  river  between  him  and 
Rattlesnake  Hill.  For  the  first  time  that  night  Richard's 
heart  sank  within  him.  The  river,  the  mountain,  the 
quickening  east,  swam  before  his  eyes.  He  shut  them  to 
recover  his  self-control.  In  that  brief  interval,  by  some 
fantastic  mental  process,  the  little  room  at  Simpson's  Bar 
and  the  figures  of  the  sleeping  father  and  son  rose  upon 
him.  He  opened  his  eyes  wildly,  cast  off  his  coat,  pistol, 
boots,  and  saddle,  bound  his  precious  pack  tightly  to  his 
shoulders,  grasped  the  bare  flanks  of  Jovita  with  his  bared 
knees,  and  with  a  shout  dashed  into  the  yellow  water.  A 
cry  rose  from  the  opposite  bank  as  the  head  of  a  man  and 
horse  struggled  for  a  few  moments  against  the  battling  cur- 
rent, and  then  were  swept  away  amidst  uprooted  trees  and 
whirling  driftwood. 

The  Old  Man  started  and  woke.  The  fire  on  the  hearth 
was  dead,  the  candle  in  the  outer  room  flickering  in  its 
socket,  and  somebody  was  rapping  at  the  door.  He  opened 
it,  but  fell  back  with  a  cry  before  the  dripping,  half-naked 
figure  that  reeled  against  the  doorpost. 

"  Dick  ?  " 

"  Hush  !     Is  he  awake  yet  ?  " 

"  No ;  but,  Dick  "  — 

"  Dry  up,  you  old  fool !  Get  me  some  whiskey,  quick  !  " 
The  Old  Man  flew  and  returned  with  —  an  empty  bottle  ! 
Dick  would  have  sworn,  but  his  strength  was  not  equal  to 
the  occasion.  He  staggered,  caught  at  the  handle  of  the 
door,  and  motioned  to  the  Old  Man. 

"  Thar 's  suthin'  in  my  pack  yer  for  Johnny.  Take  it 
off.  I  can't." 

The  Old  Man  unstrapped  the  pack,  and  laid  it  before 
the  exhausted  man. 

"  Open  it,  quick." 

He  did  so  with  trembling  fingers.     It  contained  only  a 


TELL   HIM   SANDY   CLAUS  HAS   COME 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO    SIMPSON'S   BAR         83 

few  poor  toys,  —  cheap  and  barbaric  enough,  goodness 
knows,  but  bright  with  paint  and  tinsel.  One  of  them  was 
broken ;  another,  I  fear,  was  irretrievably  ruined  by  water, 
and  on  the  third  —  ah  me  !  there  was  a  cruel  spot. 

"  It  don't  look  like  much,  that 's  a  fact,"  said  Dick  rue- 
fully. .  .  .  "But  it's  the  best  we  could  do.  ...  Take 
'em,  Old  Man,  and  put  'em  in  his  stocking,  and  tell  him  — 
tell  him,  you  know  —  hold  me,  Old  Man" —  The  Old 
Man  caught  at  his  sinking  figure.  "  Tell  him,"  said  Dick, 
with  a  weak  little  laugh,  —  "  tell  him  Sandy  Glaus  has 
come." 

And  even  so,  bedraggled,  ragged,  unshaven  and  unshorn, 
with  one  arm  hanging  helplessly  at  his  side,  Santa  Glaus 
came  to  Simpson's  Bar  and  fell  fainting  on  the  first  thresh- 
old. The  Christmas  dawn  came  slowly  after,  touching  the 
remoter  peaks  with  the  rosy  warmth  of  ineffable  love.  And 
it  looked  so  tenderly  on  Simpson's  Bar  that  the  whole  moun- 
tain, as  if  caught  in  a  generous  action,  blushed  to  the  skie? 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 
PART  I.  — WEST 

THE  sun  was  rising  in  the  foothills.  But  for  an  hour 
the  black  mass  of  Sierra  eastward  of  Angel's  had  been  out- 
lined with  fire,  and  the  conventional  morning  had  come 
two  hours  before  with  the  down  coach  from  Placerville. 
The  dry,  cold,  dewless  California  night  still  lingered  in  the 
long  canons  and  folded  skirts  of  Table  Mountain.  Even 
on  the  mountain  road  the  air  was  still  sharp,  and  that 
urgent  necessity  for  something  to  keep  out  the  chill,  which 
sent  the  barkeeper  sleepily  among  his  bottles  and  wine- 
glasses at  the  station,  obtained  all  along  the  road. 

Perhaps  it  might  be  said  that  the  first  stir  of  life  was  in 
the  bar-rooms.  A  few  birds  twittered  in  the  sycamores  at 
the  roadside,  but  long  before  that  glasses  had  clicked  and 
bottles  gurgled  in  the  saloon  of  the  Mansion  House.  This 
was  still  lit  by  a  dissipated  looking  hanging-lamp,  which 
was  evidently  the  worse  for  having  been  up  all  night,  and 
bore  a  singular  resemblance  to  a  faded  reveler  of  Angel's, 
who  even  then  sputtered  and  flickered  in  his  socket  in  an 
armchair  below  it,  —  a  resemblance  so  plain  that  when  the 
first  level  sunbeam  pierced  the  window-pane,  the  barkeeper, 
moved  by  a  sentiment  of  consistency  and  compassion,  put 
them  both  out  together. 

Then  the  sun  came  up  haughtily.  When  it  had  passed 
the  eastern  ridge  it  began,  after  its  habit,  to  lord  it  over 
Angel's,  sending  the  thermometer  up  twenty  degrees  in  as 
many  minutes,  driving  the  mules  to  the  sparse  shade  of 
corrals  and  fences,  making  the  red  dust  incandescent,  and 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS  85 

renewing  its  old  imperious  aggression  on  the  spiked  bosses 
of  the  convex  shield  of  pines  that  defended  Table  Mountain. 
Thither  by  nine  o'clock  all  coolness  had  retreated,  and  the 
"  outsides "  of  the  up  stage  plunged  their  hot  faces  in  its 
aromatic  shadows  as  in  water. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  driver  of  the  "VVingdam  coach 
to  whip  up  his  horses  and  enter  Angel's  at  that  remarkable 
pace  which  the  woodcuts  in  the  hotel  bar-room  represented 
to  credulous  humanity  as  the  usual  rate  of  speed  of  that 
conveyance.  At  such  times  the  habitual  expression  of  dis- 
dainful reticence  and  lazy  official  severity  which  he  wore  on 
the  box  became  intensified  as  the  loungers  gathered  about 
the  vehicle,  and  only  the  boldest  ventured  to  address  him. 
It  was  the  Hon.  Judge  Beeswinger,  Member  of  Assembly, 
who  to-day  presumed,  perhaps  rashly,  on  the  strength  of 
his  official  position. 

"  Any  political  news  from  below,  Bill  ?  "  he  asked,  as  the 
latter  slowly  descended  from  his  lofty  perch,  without,  how- 
ever, any  perceptible  coming  down  of  mien  or  manner. 

"  Not  much,"  said  Bill,  with  deliberate  gravity.  "  The 
President  o'  the  United  States  hez  n't  bin  hisself  sens  you 
refoosed  that  seat  in  the  Cabinet.  The  ginral  feelin'  in 
perlitical  circles  is  one  o'  regret." 

Irony,  even  of  this  outrageous  quality,  was  too  common 
in  Angel's  to  excite  either  a  smile  or  a  frown.  Bill  slowly 
entered  the  bar-room  during  a  dry,  dead  silence,  in  which 
only  a  faint  spirit  of  emulation  survived. 

"  Ye  did  n't  bring  up  that  agint  o'  Eothschild's  this 
trip  ?  "  asked  the  barkeeper  slowly,  by  way  of  vague  con- 
tribution to  the  prevailing  tone  of  conversation. 

"  No,"  responded  Bill,  with  thoughtful  exactitude.  "  H* 
said  he  could  n't  look  inter  that  claim  o'  Johnson's  without 
first  consultin'  the  Bank  o'  England.''" 

The  Mr.  Johnson  here  alluded  to  being  present  as  the 
faded  reveler  the  barkeeper  had  lately  put  out,  and  as  the 


86  MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

alleged  claim  notoriously  possessed  no  attractions  whatever 
to  capitalists,  expectation  naturally  looked  to  him  for  some 
response  to  this  evident  challenge.  He  did  so  by  simply 
stating  that  he  would  "  take  sugar  "  in  his,  and  by  walking 
unsteadily  towards  the  bar,  as  if  accepting  a  festive  invita- 
tion. To  the  credit  of  Bill  be  it  recorded  that  he  did  not 
attempt  to  correct  the  mistake,  but  gravely  touched  glasses 
with  him,  and  after  saying  "  Here 's  another  nail  in  your 
coffin,"  —  a  cheerful  sentiment,  to  which  "And  the  hair  all 
off  your  head "  was  playfully  added  by  the  others,  —  he 
threw  off  his  liquor  with  a  single  dexterous  movement  of 
head  and  elbow,  and  stood  refreshed. 

"  Hello,  old  major ! "  said  Bill,  suddenly  setting  down 
his  glass.  "  Are  you  there  ?  " 

It  was  a  boy,  who,  becoming  bashfully  conscious  that  this 
epithet  was  addressed  to  him,  retreated  sideways  to  the  door- 
way, where  he  stood  beating  his  hat  against  the  doorpost 
with  an  assumption  of  indifference  that  his  downcast  but 
mirthful  dark  eyes  and  reddening  cheek  scarcely  bore  out. 
Perhaps  it  was  owing  to  his  size,  perhaps  it  was  to  a  certain 
cherubic  outline  of  face  and  figure,  perhaps  to  a  peculiar 
trustfulness  of  expression,  that  he  did  not  look  half  his  age, 
tfhich  was  really  fourteen. 

Everybody  in  Angel's  knew  the  boy.  Either  under  the 
venerable  title  bestowed  by  Bill,  or  as  "  Tom  Islington," 
after  his  adopted  father,  his  was  a  familiar  presence  in  the 
settlement,  and  the  theme  of  much  local  criticism  and  com- 
ment. His  waywardness,  indolence,  and  unaccountable  ami- 
ability —  a  quality  at  once  suspicious  and  gratuitous  in  a 
pioneer  community  like  Angel's  —  had  often  been  the  sub- 
ject of  fierce  discussion.  A  large  and  reputable  majority 
believed  him  destined  for  the  gallows ;  a  minority  not  quite 
so  reputable  enjoyed  his  presence  without  troubling  them- 
selves much  about  his  future ;  to  one  or  two  the  evil  pre- 
dictions of  the  majority  possessed  neither  novelty  nor  terror. 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  87 

"  Anything  for  me,  Bill  ?  "  asked  the  boy  half  mechani- 
cally, with  the  air  of  repeating  some  jocular  formulary  per- 
fectly understood  by  Bill. 

"  Any  thin'  for  you ! "  echoed  Bill,  with  an  overacted 
severity  equally  well  understood  by  Tommy,  —  "  anythin' 
for  you  ?  No  !  And  it 's  my  opinion  there  Avon't  be  any- 
thin'  for  you  ez  long  ez  you  hang  around  bar-rooms  and  spend 
your  valooable  time  with  loafers  and  bummers.  Git !  " 

The  reproof  was  accompanied  by  a  suitable  exaggeration 
of  gesture  (Bill  had  seized  a  decanter),  before  which  the 
boy  retreated  still  good-humoredly.  Bill  followed  him  to 
the  door.  "  Dern  my  skin,  if  he  hez  n't  gone  off  with  that 
bummer  Johnson,"  he  added,  as  he  looked  down  the  road. 

"  What 's  he  expectin',  Bill  ?  "  asked  the  barkeeper. 

"  A  letter  from  his  aunt.  Reckon  he  '11  hev  to  take  it 
out  in  expectin'.  Likely  they  're  glad  to  get  shut  o'  him." 

"  He  's  leadin'  a  shiftless,  idle  life  here,"  interposed  the 
Member  of  Assembly. 

"  Well,"  said  Bill,  who  never  allowed  any  one  but  him- 
self to  abuse  his  protdge,  "  seein'  he  ain't  expectin'  no  offis 
from  the  hands  of  an  enlightened  constitooency,  it  is  rayther 
a  shiftless  life."  After  delivering  this  Parthian  arrow  with 
a  gratuitous  twanging  of  the  bow  to  indicate  its  offensive 
personality,  Bill  winked  at  the  barkeeper,  slowly  resumed  a 
pair  of  immense,  bulgy  buckskin  gloves,  which  gave  his  fin- 
gers the  appearance  of  being  painfully  sore  and  bandaged, 
strode  to  the  door  without  looking  at  anybody,  called  out, 
"  All  aboard,"  with  a  perfunctory  air  of  supreme  indiffer- 
ence whether  the  invitation  was  heeded,  remounted  his  box, 
and  drove  stolidly  away. 

Perhaps  it  was  well  that  he  did  so,  for  the  conversation 
at  once  assumed  a  disrespectful  attitude  toward  Tom  and  his 
relatives.  It  was  more  than  intimated  that  Tom's  alleged 
aunt  was  none  other  than  Tom's  real  mother,  while  it  was 


88  MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

also  asserted  that  Tom's  alleged  tancle  did  not  himself  pai 
ticipate  in  this  intimate  relationship  to  the  boy  to  an  extent 
which  the  fastidious  taste  of  Angel's  deemed  moral  and 
necessary.  Popular  opinion  also  believed  that  Islington, 
the  adopted  father,  who  received  a  certain  stipend  ostensibly 
for  the  boy's  support,  retained  it  as  a  reward  for  his  reti- 
cence regarding  these  facts.  "  He  ain't  ruinin'  hisself  by 
wastin'  it  on  Tom,"  said  the  barkeeper,  who  possibly  pos- 
sessed positive  knowledge  of  much  of  Islington's  disburse- 
ments. But  at  this  point  exhausted  nature  languished 
among  some  of  the  debaters,  and  he  turned  from  the  fri- 
volity of  conversation  to  his  severer  professional  duties. 

It  was  also  well  that  Bill's  momentary  attitude  of  didac- 
tic propriety  was  not  further  excited  by  the  subsequent  con- 
duct of  his  protege.  For  by  this  time  Tom,  half  supporting 
the  unstable  Johnson,  who  developed  a  tendency  to  occa- 
sionally dash  across  the  glaring  road,  but  checked  himself 
midway  each  time,  reached  the  corral  which  adjoined  the 
Mansion  House.  At  its  farther  extremity  was  a  pump  and 
horse-trough.  Here,  without  a  word  being  spoken,  but  evi- 
dently in  obedience  to  some  habitual  custom,  Tom  led  his 
companion.  With  the  boy's  assistance,  Johnson  removed 
his  coat  and  neckcloth,  turned  back  the  collar  of  his  shirt, 
and  gravely  placed  his  head  beneath  the  pump-spout. 
With  equal  gravity  and  deliberation,  Tom  took  his  place  at 
the  handle.  For  a  few  moments  only  the  splashing  of 
water  and  regular  strokes  of  the  pump  broke  the  solemnly 
ludicrous  silence.  Then  there  was  a  pause  in  which  John- 
son put  his  hands  to  his  dripping  head,  felt  it  critically  as 
if  it  belonged  to  somebody  else,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  his 
companion.  "That  ought  to  fetch  it"  said  Tom,  in  answer 
to  the  look.  "Ef  it  don't,"  replied  Johnson  doggedly, 
with  an  air  of  relieving  himself  of  all  further  responsibility 
in  the  matter,  "  it 's  got  to,  thet  's  all !  " 


MRS.  .SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  89 

If  "  it "  referred  to  some  change  in  the  physiognomy  of 
Johnson,  "  it "  had  probably  been  "  fetched  "  by  the  pro- 
cess just  indicated.  The  head  that  went  under  the  pump 
was  large,  and  clothed  with  bushy,  uncertain-colored  hair  ; 
the  face  was  flushed,  puffy,  and  expressionless,  the  eyes  in- 
jected and  full.  The  head  that  came  out  from  under  the 
pump  was  of  smaller  size  and  different  shape,  the  hair 
straight,  dark,  and  sleek,  the  face  pale  and  hollow-cheeked, 
the  eyes  bright  and  restless.  In  the  haggard,  nervous  as- 
cetic that  rose  from  the  horse-trough  there  was  very  little 
trace  of  the  Bacchus  that  had  bowed  there  a  moment  before. 
Familiar  as  Tom  must  have  been  with  the  spectacle,  he 
could  not  help  looking  inquiringly  at  the  trough,  as  if  ex- 
pecting to  see  some  traces  of  the  previous  Johnson  in  its 
shallow  depths. 

A  narrow  strip  of  willow,  alder,  and  buckeye  —  a  mere 
dusty,  raveled  fringe  of  the  green  mantle  that  swept  the 
high  shouldere  of  Table  Mountain  —  lapped  the  edge  of 
the  corral.  The  silent  pair  were  quick  to  avail  themselves 
of  even  its  scant  shelter  from  the  overpowering  sun.  They 
had  not  proceeded  far,  before  Johnson,  who  was  walking 
quite  rapidly  in  advance,  suddenly  brought  himself  up,  and 
turned  to  his  companion  with  an  interrogative  "  Eh  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  speak,"  said  Tommy  quietly. 

"  Who  said  you  spoke  ?  "  said  Johnson,  with  a  quick  look 
of  cunning.  "  In  course  you  did  n't  speak,  and  I  did  n't  speak 
neither.  Nobody  spoke.  Wot  makes  you  think  you  spoke  ?  " 
he  continued,  peering  curiously  into  Tommy's  eyes. 

The  smile  which  habitually  shone  there  quickly  vanished 
as  the  boy  stepped  quietly  to  his  companion's  side,  and  took 
his  arm  without  a  word. 

"  In  course  you  did  n't  speak,  Tommy,"  said  Johnson 
deprecatingly.  "  You  ain't  a  boy  to  go  for  to  play  an  ole 
soaker  like  me.  That 's  wot  I  like  you  for.  Thet  's  wot  I 
seed  in  you  from  the  first.  I  sez,  '  Thet  'ere  boy  ain't 


90  MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

going  to  play  you,  Johnson !  You  can  go  your  whole  pile 
on  him,  when  you  can't  trust  even  a  barkeepV  Thet  's 
wot  I  said.  Eh  ?  " 

This  time  Tommy  prudently  took  no  notice  of  the  inter- 
rogation, and  Johnson  went  on  :  "  Ef  I  was  to  ask  you 
another  question,  you  would  n't  go  to  play  me  neither  — 
would  you,  Tommy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  boy. 

"Ef  I  was  to  ask  you,"  continued  Johnson,  without 
heeding  the  reply,  hut  with  a  growing  anxiety  of  eye  and  a 
nervous  twitching  of  his  lips,  —  "  ef  I  was  to  ask  you,  fur 
instance,  ef  that  was  a  jackass  rabbit  that  jest  passed,  — 
eh  ?  —  you  'd  say  it  was  or  was  not,  ez  the  case  may  be. 
You  would  n't  play  the  ole  man  on  thet  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tommy  quietly,  "  it  was  a  jackass  rabbit." 

"  Ef  I  was  to  ask  you,"  continued  Johnson,  "  ef  it  wore, 
say,  fur  instance,  a  green  hat  with  yaller  ribbons,  you 
wouldn't  play  me,  and  say  it  did,  onless "  —  he  added, 
with  intensified  cunning  —  "  onless  it  did  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tommy,  "  of  course  I  would  n't ;  but  then, 
you  see,  it  did." 

"  It  did  ?  » 

"  It  did  !  "  repeated  Tommy  stoutly  ;  "  a  green  hat  with 
yellow  ribbons  —  and  —  and  — a  red  rosette." 

"  I  did  n't  get  to  see  the  ros-ette,"  said  Johnson,  with 
slow  and  conscientious  deliberation,,  yet  with  an  evident 
sense  of  relief ;  "  but  that  ain't  sayin'  it  wa'n't  there,  you 
know.  Eh  ?  " 

Tommy  glanced  quietly  at  his  companion.  There  were 
great  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  ashen-gray  forehead,  and 
on  the  <mds  of  his  lank  hair;  the  hand  which  twitched 
spasmodically  in  his  was  cold  and  clammy,  the  other,  which 
was  free,  had  a  vague,  purposeless,  jerky  activity,  as  if 
attached  to  some  deranged  mechanism.  Without  any 
apparent  concern  in  these  phenomena,  Tommy  halted,  and, 


MKS.   SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  91 

seating  himself  on  a  log,  motioned  his  companion  to  a  place 
beside  him.  Johnson  obeyed  without  a  word.  Slight  as 
was  the  act,  perhaps  no  other  incident  of  their  singular  com- 
panionship indicated  as  completely  the  dominance  of  this 
careless,  half-effeminate,  but  self-possessed  boy  over  this  dog- 
gedly self-willed,  abnormally  excited  man. 

"  It  ain't  the  square  thing,"  said  Johnson,  after  a  pause, 
with  a  laugh  *  that  was  neither  mirthful  nor  musical,  and 
frightened  away  a  lizard  that  had  been  regarding  the  pair 
with  breathless  suspense,  —  "  it  ain't  the  square  thing  for 
jackass  rabbits  to  wear  hats,  Tommy,  —  is  it,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Tommy,  with  unmoved  composure,  "  some- 
times they  do  and  sometimes  they  don't.  Animals  are 
mighty  queer."  And  here  Tommy  went  off  in  an  animated, 
but,  I  regret  to  say,  utterly  untruthful  and  untrustworthy 
account  of  the  habits  of  California  fauna,  until  he  was 
interrupted  by  Johnson. 

"  And  snakes,  eh,  Tommy  ?  "  said  the  man,  with  an 
abstracted  air,  gazing  intently  on  the  ground  before  him. 

"  And  snakes,"  said  Tommy,  "  but  they  don't  bite,  —  at 
least  not  that  kind  you  see.  There  !  —  don't  move,  Uncle 
Ben,  don't  move;  they're  gone  now.  And  it's  about 
time  you  took  your  dose." 

Johnson  had  hurriedly  risen  as  if  to  leap  upon  the  log, 
but  Tommy  had  as  quickly  caught  his  arm  with  one  hand 
while  he  drew  a  bottle  from  his  pocket  with  the  other. 
Johnson  paused  and  eyed  the  bottle.  "  Ef  you  say  so,  my 
boy,"  he  faltered,  as  his  fingers  closed  nervously  around 
it ;  "  say  '  when,'  then."  He  raised  the  bottle  to  his  lips 
and  took  a  long  draught,  the  boy  regarding  him  critically. 
"  When,"  said  Tommy  suddenly.  Johnson  started,  flushed, 
and  returned  the  bottle  quickly.  But  the  color  that  had 
risen  to  his  cheek  stayed  there,  his  eye  grew  less  restless, 
and  as  they  moved  away  again  the  hand  that  rested  o» 
Tommy's  shoulder  was  steadier. 


92  MRS.   SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

Their  way  lay  along  the  flank  of  Table  Mountain,  —  a 
wandering  trail  through  a  tangled  solitude  that  might  have 
seemed  virgin  and  unbroken  but  for  a  few  oyster-cans, 
yeast-powder  tins,  and  empty  bottles  that  had  been  appar- 
ently stranded  by  the  "  first  low  wash  "  of  pioneer  waves. 
On  the  ragged  trunk  of  an  enormous  pine  hung  a  few  tufts 
of  gray  hair  caught  from  a  passing  grizzly,  but  in  strange 
Juxtaposition  at  its  foot  lay  an  empty  bottle  of  incomparable 
bitters,  —  the  chefd'ceuvre  of  a  hygienic  civilization,  and 
blazoned  with  the  arms  of  an  all-healing  republic.  The 
head  of  a  rattlesnake  peered  from  a  case  that  had  contained 
tobacco,  which  was  still  brightly  placarded  with  the  high- 
colored  effigy  of  a  popular  danseuse.  And  a  little  beyond 
this  the  soil  was  broken  and  fissured,  there  was  a  confused 
mass  of  roughly  hewn  timber,  a  straggling  line  of  sluicing, 
a  heap  of  gravel  and  dirt,  a  rude  cabin,  and  the  claim  of 
Johnson. 

Except  for  the  rudest  purposes  of  shelter  from  rain  and 
cold,  the  cabin  possessed  but  little  advantage  over  the  sim- 
ple savagery  of  surrounding  nature.  It  had  all  the  prac- 
tical directness  of  the  habitation  of  some  animal,  without 
its  comfort  or  picturesque  quality ;  the  very  birds  that 
haunted  it  for  food  must  have  felt  their  own  superiority  as 
architects.  It  was  inconceivably  dirty,  even  with  its  scant 
capacity  for  accretion ;  it  was  singularly  stale,  even  in  its 
newness  and  freshness  of  material.  Unspeakably  dreary  as 
it  was  in  shadow,  the  sunlight  visited  it  in  a  blind,  aching, 
purposeless  way,  as  if  despairing  of  mellowing  its  outlines 
or  of  even  tanning  it  into  color. 

The  claim  worked  by  Johnson  in  his  intervals  of  sobriety 
was  represented  by  half  a  dozen  rude  openings  in  the 
mountain-side,  with  the  heaped-up  de'bris  of  rock  and 
gravel  before  the  mouth  of  each.  They  gave  very  little 
evidence  of  engineering  skill  or  constructive  purpose,  01 
indeed  showed  anything  but  the  vague,  successively  aban- 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  93 

doned  essays  of  their  projector.  To-day  they  served 
another  purpose,  for  as  the  sun  had  heated  the  little  cabin 
almost  to  the  point  of  combustion,  curling  up  the  long  dry 
shingles,  and  starting  aromatic  tears  from  the  green  pine 
beams,  Tommy  led  Johnson  into  one  of  the  larger  openings, 
and  with  a  sense  of  satisfaction  threw  himself  panting  upon 
its  rocky  floor.  Here  and  there  the  grateful  dampness  was 
condensed  in  quiet  pools  of  water,  or  in  a  monotonous  and 
soothing  drip  from  the  rocks  above.  Without  lay  the  star- 
ing sunlight  —  colorless,  clarified,  intense. 

For  a  few  moments  they  lay  resting  on  their  elbows  in 
blissful  contemplation  of  the  heat  they  had  escaped.  "  Wot 
do  you  say,"  said  Johnson  slowly,  without  looking  at  his 
companion,  but  abstractedly  addressing  himself  to  the  land- 
scape beyond,  —  "  wot  do  you  say  to  two  straight  games 
fur  one  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

"  Make  it  five  thousand,"  replied  Tommy  reflectively 
also  to  the  landscape,  "  and  I  'm  in." 

"  Wot  do  I  owe  you  now  ? "  said  Johnson,  after  a 
lengthened  silence. 

"  One  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars,"  replied  Tommy  with  business-like 
gravity. 

"  Well,"  said  Johnson  after  a  deliberation  commensurate 
with  the  magnitude  of  the  transaction,  "  ef  you  win,  call  it 
a  hundred  and  eighty  thousand,  round.  War 's  the 
keerds  ?  " 

They  were  in  an  old  tin  box  in  a  crevice  of  a  rock  above 
his  head.  They  were  greasy  and  worn  with  service. 
Johnson  dealt,  albeit  his  right  hand  was  still  uncertain,  — 
hovering,  after  dropping  the  cards,  aimlessly  about  Tommy, 
and  being  only  recalled  by  a  strong  nervous  effort.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  this  incapacity  for  even  honest  manipula- 
tion, Mr.  Johnson  covertly  turned  a  knave  from  the  bottom 
of  the  pack  with  such  shameless  inefficiency  and  gratuitous 


94  MRS.   SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

unskillfulness,  that  even  Tommy  was  obliged  to  cough  and 
look  elsewhere  to  hide  his  embarrassment.  Possibly  for 
this  reason  the  young  gentleman  was  himself  constrained, 
by  way  of  correction,  to  add  a  valuable  card  to  his  own 
hand,  over  and  above  the  number  he  legitimately  held. 

Nevertheless  the  game  was  unexciting  and  dragged  list- 
lessly. Johnson  won.  He  recorded  the  fact  and  the 
amount  with  a  stub  of  pencil  and  shaking  fingers  in  wander- 
ing hieroglyphics  all  over  a  pocket  diary.  Then  there  was 
a  long  pause,  when  Johnson  slowly  drew  something  from 
his  pocket  and  held  it  up  before  his  companion.  It  was 
apparently  a  dull  red  stone. 

"Ef,"  said  Johnson  slowly,  with  his  old  look  of  simple 
cunning,  — "  ef  you  happened  to  pick  up  sich  a  rock  ez 
that,  Tommy,  what  might  you  say  it  was  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Tommy. 

"  Might  n't  you  say,"  continued  Johnson  cautiously, 
"  that  it  was  gold  or  silver  ?  " 

"Neither,"  said  Tommy  promptly. 

".Mightn't  you  say  it  was  quicksilver?  Mightn't  you 
say  that  ef  thar  was  a  friend  o'  yourn  ez  knew  war  to  go 
and  turn  out  ten  ton  of  it  a  day,  and  every  ton  worth  two 
thousand  dollars,  that  he  had  a  soft  thing,  a  very  soft  thing, 
—  allowin',  Tommy,  that  you  used  sich  language,  which 
you  don't  ?  " 

"But,"  said  the  boy,  coming  to  the  point  with  great 
directness,  "  do  you  know  where  to  get  it  ?  have  you  struck 
it,  Uncle  Ben  ?  " 

Johnson  looked  carefully  round.  "  I  hev,  Tommy. 
Listen.  I  know  whar  thar 's  cartloads  of  it.  But  thar 's 
only  one  other  specimen  —  the  mate  to  this  yer  —  thet  's 
above  ground,  and  thet's  in  'Frisco.  Thar 's  an  agint 
comin'  up  in  a  day  or  two  to  look  into  it.  I  sent  for  him 
Eh?" 

His  bright,  restless  eyes  were  concentrated  on  Tommy's 


MRS.    SKAGGSS   HUSBANDS  95 

face  now,  but  the  boy  showed  neither  surprise  noi  interest. 
Lea.st  of  all  did  he  betray  any  recollection  of  Billys  ironical 
and  gratuitous  corroboration  of  this  part  of  the  story. 

"  Nobody  knows  it,"  continued  Johnson  in  a  nervous 
whisper,  —  "  nobody  knows  it  but  you  and  the  agint  in 
'Frisco.  The  boys  workin'  round  yar  passes  by  and  sees 
the  old  man  grubbin'  away,  and  no  signs  o'  color,  not  even 
rotten  quartz  ;  the  boys  loafin'  round  the  Mansion  House 
sees  the  old  man  lyin'  round  free  in  bar-rooms,  and  they 
laughs  and  sez,  '  Played  out,'  and  spects  nothin'.  Maybe 
ye  think  they  spects  suthin'  now,  eh  ?  "  queried  Johnson 
suddenly,  with  a  sharp  look  of  suspicion. 

Tommy  looked  up,  shook  his  head,  threw  a  stone  at  a 
passing  rabbit,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  When  I  fust  set  eyes  on  you,  Tommy,"  continued 
Johnson,  apparently  reassured,  "  the  fust  day  you  kem  and 
pumped  for  me,  an  entire  stranger,  and  hevin'  no  call  to  do 
it,  I  sez,  '  Johnson,  Johnson,'  sez  I,  f  yer  's  a  boy  you  kin 
trust.  Yer  's  a  boy  that  won't  play  you  ;  yer  's  a  chap 
that 's  white  and  square,'  —  white  and  square,  Tommy  : 
them  's  the  very  words  I  used." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  in  a  confiden- 
tial whisper,  " '  You  want  capital,  Johnson,'  sez  I,  '  to 
develop  your  resources,  and  you  want  a  pardner.  Capital 
you  can  send  for,  but  your  pardner,  Johnson,  —  your  pard- 
ner is  right  yer.  And  his  name,  it  is  Tommy  Islington  ' 
Them  's  the  very  words  I  used." 

He  stopped  and  chafed  his  clammy  hands  upon  his 
knees.  "  It 's  six  months  ago  sens  I  made  you  my  pardner. 
Thar  ain't  a  lick  I  've  struck  sens  then,  Tommy,  thar  ain't 
a  han'ful  o'  yearth  I  've  washed,  thar  ain't  a  shovelful  o' 
rock  I  've  turned  over,  but  I  tho't  o'  you.  '  Share,  and 
share  alike,'  sez  I.  When  I  wrote  to  my  agint,  I  wrote 
ekal  for  my  pardner,  Tommy  Islington,  he  hevin'  no  call 
to  know  ef  the  same  was  man  or  boy." 


96  MRS.   SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

He  had  moved  nearer  the  boy,  and  would  perhaps  have 
laid  his  hand  caressingly  upon  him,  but  even  in  his  mani- 
fest affection  there  was  a  singular  element  of  awed  restraint 
and  even  fear,  —  a  suggestion  of  something  withheld  even 
his  fullest  confidences,  a  hopeless  perception  of  some  vague 
barrier  that  never  could  be  surmounted.  He  may  have 
been  at  times  dimly  conscious  that,  in  the  eyes  which 
Tommy  raised  to  his,  there  was  thorough  intellectual  ap- 
preciation, critical  good-humor,  even  feminine  softness,  but 
nothing  more.  His  nervousness  somewhat  heightened  by 
his  embarrassment,  he  went  on  with  an  attempt  at  calmness 
which  his  twitching  white  lips  and  unsteady  fingers  made 
pathetically  grotesque.  "  Thar  's  a  bill  o'  sale  in  my  bunk, 
made  out  accordin'  to  law,  of  an  ekal  ondivided  half  of  the 
claim,  and  the  consideration  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  —  gambling  debts  —  gambling  debts  from  me 
to  you,  Tommy,  you  understand  ?  "  —  nothing  could  ex- 
ceed the  intense  cunning  of  his  eye  at  this  moment  —  "  and 
then  thar  's  a  will." 

"  A  will  ?  "  said  Tommy  in  amused  surprise. 

Johnson  looked  frightened. 

"  Eh  ?  "  he  said  hurriedly,  "  wot  will  ?  Who  said  any- 
thin'  'bout  a  will,  Tommy  ?  " 

"  Nobody,"  replied  Tommy  with  unblushing  calm. 

Johnson  passed  his  hand  over  his  cold  forehead,  wrung 
the  damp  ends  of  his  hair  with  his  fingers,  and  went  on : 
"  Times  when  I  'm  took  bad  ez  I  was  to-day,  the  boys  about 
yer  sez  —  you  soz,  maybe,  Tommy  —  it 's  whiskey.  It  ain't, 
Tommy.  It 's  pizen  —  quicksilver  pizen.  That 's  what 's  the 
matter  with  me.  I  'm  salivated !  Salivated  with  merkery. 

"  I  've  heerd  o'  it  before,"  continued  Johnson,  appealing 
to  the  boy,  "  and  ez  a  boy  o'  permiskus  reading,  I  reckon 
you  hev  too.  Them  men  as  works  in  cinnabar  sooner  or 
later  gets  salivated.  It's 'bound  to  fetch  'em  some  time. 
Salivated  by  merkery." 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  97 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  for  it  ?  "  asked  Tommy. 

"  When  the  agint  comes  up,  and  I  begins  to  realize  on 
this  yer  mine,"  said  Johnson  contemplatively,  "  I  goes  to 
New  York.  I  sez  to  the  barkeep'  o'  the  hotel,  '  Show  me 
the  biggest  doctor  here.'  He  shows  me.  I  sez  to  him, 
'  Salivated  by  merkery  —  a  year's  standin'  —  how  much  ?  ' 
He  sez,  '  Five  thousand  dollars,  and  take  two  o'  these  pills 
at  bedtime,  and  an  ekil  number  o'  powders  at  meals,  and 
come  back  in  a  Aveek.'  And  I  goes  back  in  a  week,  cured, 
and  signs  a  certifikit  to  that  effect." 

Encouraged  by  a  look  of  interest  in  Tommy's  eye,  he 
went  on. 

"  So  I  gets  cured.  I  goes  to  the  barkeep',  and  I  sez, 
'  Show  me  the  biggest,  fashionblest  house  thet  's  for  sale 
yer.'  And  he  sez,  '  The  biggest  nat'rally  b'longs  to  John 
Jacob  Astor.'  And  I  sez,  (  Show  him,'  and  he  show*  him. 
And  I  sez,  '  Wot  might  you  ask  for  this  yer  house  ?  '  And 
he  looks  at  me  scornful,  and  sez,  'Go  'way,  old  man;  you 
must  be  sick.'  And  I  fetches  him  one  over  the  left  eye 
and  he  apologizes,  and  I  gives  him  his  own  price  for  the 
house.  I  stocks  that  house  with  mahogany  furniture  and 
pervisions,  and  thar  we  lives,  —  you  and  me,  Tommy,  you 
and  me !  " 

The  sun  no  longer  shone  upon  the  hillside.  The  sha- 
dows of  the  pines  were  beginning  to  creep  over  Johnson's 
claim,  and  the  air  within  the  cavern  was  growing  chill.  In 
the  gathering  darkness  his  eyes  shone  brightly  as  he  went 
on:  "Then  thar  comes  a  day  when  we  gives  a  big  spread. 
We  invites  gov'ners,  members  o'  Congress,  gentlemen  o' 
fashion,  and  the  like.  And  among  'em  I  invites  a  Man 
as  holds  his  head  very  high,  a  Man  I  once  knew ;  but  he 
does  n't  know  I  knows  him,  and  he  does  n't  remember  me. 
And  he  comes  and  he  sits  opposite  me,  and  I  -watches  him. 
And  he 's  very  airy,  this  Man,  and  very  chipper,  and  he 
wipes  his  mouth  with  a  white  hankercher,  and  he  smiles, 


98  MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

and  he  ketches  my  eye.  And  he  sez,  'A  glass  o'  wine 
with  you,  Mr.  Johnson ; '  and  he  fills  his  glass  and  I  fills 
mine,  and  we  rises.  And  I  heaves  that  wine,  glass  and 
all,  right  into  his  damned  grinnin'  face.  And  he  jumps 
for  me  —  for  he  is  very  game  this  Man,  very  game  —  but 
some  on  'em  grabs  him,  and  he  sez,  '  Who  be  you  ? '  And 
I  sez,  'Skaggs!  Damn  you,  Skaggs!  Look  at  me!  Gimme 
back  my  wife  and  child,  gimme  back  the  money  you  stole, 
gimme  back  the  good  name  you  took  away,  gimme  back  the 
health  you  ruined,  gimme  back  the  last  twelve  years !  Give 
'em  to  me,  damn  you,  quick,  before  I  cuts  your  heart  out ! ' 
And  laterally,  Tommy,  he  can't  do  it.  And  so  I  cuts  his 
heart  out,  my  boy  ;  I  cuts  his  heart  out." 

The  purely  animal  fury  of  his  eye  suddenly  changed 
again  to  cunning.  "  You  think  they  hangs  me  for  it, 
Tommy,  but  they  don't.  Not  much,  Tommy.  I  goes  to 
the  biggest  lawyer  there,  and  I  says  to  him,  '  Salivated  by 
merkery  —  you  hear  me  —  salivated  by  merkery.'  And  he 
winks  at  me,  and  he  goes  to  the  judge,  and  he  sez,  '  This 
yer  unfortnet  man  is  n't  responsible  —  he  's  been  salivated 
by  merkery.'  And  he  brings  witnesses  ;  you  comes,  Tommy, 
and  you  sez  ez  how  you  've  seen  me  took  bad  afore  ;  and 
the  doctor,  he  comes,  and  he  sez  as  how  he  's  seen  me 
frightful ;  and  the  jury,  without  leavin'  their  seats,  brings 
in  a  verdict  o'  justifiable  insanity,  —  salivated  by  merkery." 

In  the  excitement  of  his  climax  he  had  risen  to  his  feet, 
but  would  have  fallen  had  not  Tommy  caught  him  and  led 
him  into  the  open  air.  In  this  sharper  light  there  was 
an  odd  change  visible  in  his  yellow-white  face,  —  a  change 
which  caused  Tommy  to  hurriedly  support  him,  half  lead- 
ing, half  dragging  him  toward  the  little  cabin.  When  they 
had  reached  it,  Tommy  placed  him  on  a  rude  "  bunk,"  or 
shelf,  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  anxious  contemplation  of 
the  tremor-stricken  man  before  him.  Then  he  said  rapidly, 
"  Listen,  Uncle  Ben.  I  'm  goin'  to  town  —  to  town,  you 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS  99 

understand  —  for  the  doctor.  You  're  not  to  get  up  or 
move  on  any  account  until  I  return.  Do  you  hear  ? " 
Johnson  nodded  violently.  "  I  '11  be  back  in  two  hours." 
In  another  moment  he  was  gone. 

For  an  hour  Johnson  kept  his  word.  Then  he  suddenly 
sat  up,  and  began  to  gaze  fixedly  at  a  corner  of  the  cabin. 
From  gazing  at  it  he  began  to  smile,  from  smiling  at  it  he 
began  to  talk,  from  talking  at  it  he  began  to  scream,  from 
screaming  he  passed  to  cursing  and  sobbing  wildly.  Then 
he  lay  quiet  again. 

He  was  so  still  that  to  merely  human  eyes  he  might 
have  seemed  asleep  or  dead.  But  a  squfrrel,  that,  embold- 
ened by  the  stillness,  had  entered  from  the  roof,  stopped 
short  upon  a  beam  above  the  bunk,  for  he  saw  that  the  man's 
foot  was  slowly  and  cautiously  moving  towards  the  floor, 
and  that  the  man's  eyes  were  as  intent  and  watchful  as  his 
own.  Presently,  still  without  a  sound,  both  feet  were  upon 
the  floor.  And  then  the  bunk  creaked,  and  the  squirrel 
whisked  into  the  eaves  of  the  roof.  When  he  peered  forth 
again,  everything  was  quiet,  and  the  man  was  gone. 

An  hour  later  two  muleteers  on  the  Placerville  Road 
passed  a  man  with  disheveled  hair,  glaring,  bloodshot  eyes, 
and  clothes  torn  with  bramble  and  stained  with  the  red 
dust  of  the  mountain.  They  pursued  him,  when  he  turned 
fiercely  on  the  foremost,  wrested  a  pistol  from  his  grasp, 
and  broke  away.  Later  still,  when  the  sun  had  dropped 
behind  Payne's  Ridge,  the  underbrush  on  Deadwood  Slope 
crackled  with  a  stealthy  but  continuous  tread.  It  must 
have  been  an  animal  whose  dimly  outlined  bulk,  in  the 
gathering  darkness,  showed  here  and  there  in  vague  but 
incessant  motion ;  it  could  be  nothing  but  an  animal  whose 
utterance  was  at  once  so  incoherent,  monotonous,  and  un- 
remitting. Yet,  when  the  sound  came  nearer,  and  the 
chaparral  was  parted,  it  seemed  to  be  a  man,  and  that  man 
Johnson. 


100  MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

Above  the  baying  of  phantasmal  hounds  that  pressed  him 
hard  and  drove  him  on,  with  never  rest  or  mercy ;  above 
the  lashing  of  a  spectral  whip  that  curled  about  his  limbs, 
sang  in  his  ears,  and  continually  stung  him  forward  ;  above 
the  outcries  of  the  unclean  shapes  that  thronged  about 
him,  —  he  could  still  distinguish  one  real  sonnd,  the  rush 
and  sweep  of  hurrying  waters.  The  Stanislaus  Eiver ! 
A  thousand  feet  below  him  drove  its  yellowing  current. 
Through  all  the  vacillations  of  his  unseated  mind  he  had 
clung  to  one  idea  —  to  reach  the  river,  to  lave  in  it,  to 
swim  it  if  need  be,  but  to  put  it  forever  between  him  and 
the  harrying  shapes,  to  drown  forever  in  its  turbid  depths 
the  thronging  spectres,  to  wash  away  in  its  yellow  flood  all 
stains  and  color  of  the  past.  And  now  he  was  leaping  from 
boulder  to  boulder,  from  blackened  stump  to  stump,  from 
gnarled  bush  to  bush,  caught  for  a  moment  and  withheld  by 
clinging  vines,  or  plunging  downward  into  dusty  hollows, 
until,  rolling,  dropping,  sliding,  and  stumbling,  he  reached 
the  river-bank,  whereon  he  fell,  rose,  staggered  forward,  and 
fell  again  with  outstretched  arms  upon  a  rock  that  breasted 
the  swift  current.  And  there  he  lay  as  dead. 

A  few  stars  came  out  hesitatingly  above  Deadwood 
Slope.  A  cold  wind  that  had  sprung  up  with  the  going 
down  of  the  sun  fanned  them  into  momentary  brightness, 
swept  the  heated  flanks  of  the  mountain,  and  ruffled  the 
river.  Where  the  fallen  man  lay  there  was  a  sharp  curve 
in  the  stream,  so  that  in  the  gathering  shadows  the  rushing 
water  seemed  to  leap  out  of  the  darkness  and  to  vanish 
again.  Decayed  driftwood,  trunks  of  trees,  fragments  of 
broken  sluicing  —  the  wash  and  waste  of  many  a  mile  — 
swept  into  sight  a  moment,  and  were  gone.  All  of  decay, 
wreck,  and  foulness  gathered  in  the  long  circuit  of  mining- 
camp  and  settlement,  all  the  dregs  and  refuse  of  a  crude 
and  wanton  civilization,  reappeared  for  an  instant,  and  then 
were  hurried  away  in  the  darkness  and  lost.  No  wonder 


MRS.    SKAGCIS'S    TirSBANDS  101 

that,  as  the  wind  ruffled  the  yellow  waters,  the  waves 
seemed  to  lift  their  unclean  hands  toward  the  rock  whereon 
the  fallen  man  lay,  as  if  eager  to  snatch  him  from  it,  too, 
and  hurry  him  toward  the  sea. 

It  was  very  still.  In  the  clear  air  a  horn  blown  a  mile 
away  was  heard  distinctly.  The  jingling  of  a  spur  and  a 
laugh  on  the  highway  over  Payne's  Ridge  sounded  clearly 
across  the  river.  The  rattling  of  harness  and  hoofs  fore- 
told for  many  minutes  the  approach  of  the  Wingdam  coach, 
that  at  last,  with  flashing  lights,  passed  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  rock.  Then  for  an  hour  all  again  was  quiet.  Pre- 
sently the  moon,  round  and  full,  lifted  herself  above  the 
serried  ridge  and  looked  down  upon  the  river.  At  first  the 
bared  peak  of  Deadwood  Hill  gleamed  white  and  skull-like. 
Then  the  shadows  of  Payne's  Ridge  cast  on  the  slope 
slowly  sank  away,  leaving  the  unshapely  stumps,  the  dusty 
fissures,  and  clinging  outcrop  of  Deadwood  Slope  to  stand 
out  in  black  and  silver.  Still  stealing  softly  downward, 
the  moonlight  touched  the  bank  and  the  rock,  and  then 
glittered  brightly  on  the  river.  The  rock  was  bare  and  the 
man  was  gone,  but  the  river  still  hurried  swiftly  to  the  sea. 

"  Is  there  anything  for  me  ?  "  asked  Tommy  Islington, 
as,  a  week  after,  the  stage  drew  up  at  the  Mansion  House, 
and  Bill  slowly  entered  the  bar-room.  Bill  did  not  reply, 
but,  turning  to  a  stranger  who  had  entered  with  him,  indi- 
cated with  a  jerk  of  his  finger  the  boy.  The  stranger 
turned  with  an  air  half  of  business,  half  of  curiosity,  and 
looked  critically  at  Tommy.  "  Is  there  anything  for  me  ?  " 
repeated  Tommy,  a  little  confused  at  the  silence  and  scru- 
tiny. Bill  walked  deliberately  to  the  bar,  and,  placing 
his  back  against  it,  faced  Tommy  with  a  look  of  demure 
enjoyment. 

"  Ef,"  he  remarked  slowly,  —  "  ef  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  down  and  half  a  million  in  perspektive  is  enny- 
thing,  Major,  THEKE  is  !  " 


102  MRS.   SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 


PART  IL  — EAST 

It  was  characteristic  of  Angel's  that  the  disappearance  of 
Johnson,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  left  his  entire  property  to 
Tommy,  thrilled  the  community  hut  slightly  in  comparison 
with  the  astounding  discovery  that  he  had  anything  to  leave. 
The  finding  of  a  cinnabar  lode  at  Angel's  absorbed  all  col- 
lateral facts  or  subsequent  details.  Prospectors  from  adjoin- 
ing camps  thronged  the  settlement ;  the  hillside  for  a  mile 
on  either  side  of  Johnson's  claim  was  staked  out  and  pre- 
empted ;  trade  received  a  sudden  stimulus ;  and,  in  the 
excited  rhetoric  of  the  "  Weekly  Record,"  "  a  new  era  had 
broken  upon  Angel's."  "  On  Thursday  last,"  added  that 
paper,  "  over  five  hundred  dollars  were  taken  in  over  the 
bar  of  the  Mansion  House." 

Of  the  fate  of  Johnson  there  was  little  doubt.  He  had 
been  last  seen  lying  on  a  boulder  on  the  river-bank  by  out- 
side passengers  of  the  Wingdam  night  coach,  and  when  Finn 
of  Robinson's  Ferry  admitted  to  have  fired  three  shots  from 
a  revolver  at  a  dark  object  struggling  in  the  water  near  the 
ferry,  which  he  "  suspicioned  "  to  be  a  bear,  the  question 
seemed  to  be  settled.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  falli- 
bility of  his  judgment,  of  the  accuracy  of  his  aim  there 
could  be  no  doubt.  The  general  belief  that  Johnson,  after 
possessing  himself  of  the  muleteer's  pistol,  could  have  run 
amuck  gave  a  certain  retributive  justice  to  this  story,  which 
rendered  it  acceptable  to  the  camp. 

It  was  also  characteristic  of  Angel's  that  no  feeling  of 
envy  or  opposition  to  the  good  fortune  of  Tommy  Islington 
prevailed  there.  That  he  was  thoroughly  cognizant,  from 
the  first,  of  Johnson's  discovery,  that  his  attentions  to  him 
•were  interested,  calculating,  and  speculative,  was,  however, 
the  general  belief  of  the  majority,  —  a  belief  that,  singu- 
larly enough,  awakened  the  first  feelings  of  genuine  respect 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  103 

for  Tommy  ever  shown  by  the  camp.  "  He  ain't  no  fool ; 
Yuba  Bill  seed  thet  from  the  first,"  said  the  barkeeper.  It 
was  Yuba  Bill  who  applied  for  the  guardianship  of  Tommy 
after  his  accession  to  Johnson's  claim,  and  on  whose  bonds 
the  richest  men  of  Calaveras  were  represented.  It  was 
Yuba  Bill,  also,  when  Tommy  was  sent  East  to  finish  his 
education,  who  accompanied  him  to  San  Francisco,  and,  be- 
fore parting  with  his  charge  on  the  steamer's  deck,  drew  him 
aside,  and  said,  "  Ef  at  enny  time  you  want  enny  money, 
Tommy,  over  and  'bove  your  'lowance,  you  kin  write ;  but 
ef  you  '11  take  my  advice,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden  huski- 
ness  mitigating  the  severity  of  his  voice,  "  you  '11  forget 
every  derned  ole  spavined,  string-halted  bummer,  as  you 
ever  met  or  knew  at  Angel's,  —  ev'ry  one,  Tommy,  —  ev'ry 
one  !  And  so  —  boy  —  take  care  of  yourself  —  and  —  and 
God  bless  ye,  and  pertikerly  d — n  me  for  a  first-class  A  1 
fool."  It  was  Yuba  Bill,  also,  after  this  speech,  who  glared 
savagely  around,  walked  down  the  crowded  gang-plank  with 
a  rigid  and  aggressive  shoulder,  picked  a  quarrel  with  his 
cabman,  and,  after  bundling  that  functionary  into  his  own 
vehicle,  took  the  reins  himself,  and  drove  furiously  to  hie 
hotel.  "  It  cost  me,"  said  Bill,  recounting  the  occurrence 
somewhat  later  at  Angel's,  —  "  it  cost  me  a  matter  o'  twenty 
dollars  afore  the  jedge  the  next  mornin'  ;  but  you  kin  bet 
high  thet  I  taught  them  'Frisco  chaps  suthin'  new  about 
drivin'.  I  did  n't  make  it  lively  in  Montgomery  Street  for 
about  ten  minutes  —  oh  no  !  " 

And  so  by  degrees  the  two  original  locators  of  the  great 
Cinnabar  Lode  faded  from  the  memory  of  Angel's,  and 
Calaveras  knew  them  no  more.  In  five  years  their  very 
names  had  been  forgotten  ;  in  seven  the  name  of  the  town 
was  changed  ;  in  ten  the  town  itself  was  transported  bodily 
to  the  hillside,  and  the  chimney  of  the  Union  Smelting 
Works  by  night  flickered  like  a  corpse-light  over  the  site  of 
Johnson's  cabin,  and  by  day  poisoned  the  pure  spices  of  the 


104  MRS.   SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

pines.  Even  the  Mansion  House  was  dismantled,  and  the 
Wingdam  stage  deserted  the  highway  for  a  shorter  cut  by 
Quicksilver  City.  Only  the  bared  crest  of  Deadwood  Hill, 
as  of  old,  sharply  cut  the  clear  blue  sky,  and  at  its  base,  as  of 
old,  the  Stanislaus  River,  unwearied  and  unresting,  babbled 
whispered,  and  hurried  away  to  the  sea. 

A  midsummer's  day  was  breaking  lazily  on  the  Atlantic. 
There  was  not  wind  enough  to  move  the  vapors  in  the 
foggy  offing,'  but  when  the  vague  distance  heaved  against  a 
violet  sky  there  were  dull  red  streaks  that,  growing  brighter, 
presently  painted  out  the  stars.  Soon  the  brown  rocks  of 
Greyport  appeared  faintly  suffused,  and  then  the  whole 
ashen  line  of  dead  coast  was  kindled,  and  the  lighthouse 
beacons  went  out  one  by  one.  And  then  a  hundred  sail, 
before  invisible,  started  out  of  the  vapory  horizon,  and 
pressed  toward,  the  shore.  It  was  morning,  indeed,  and 
some  of  the  best  society  in  Greyport,  having  been  up  all 
night,  were  thinking  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed. 

For  as  the  sky  flashed  brighter  it  fired  the  clustering  red 
roofs  of  a  picturesque  house  by  the  sands  that  had  all  that 
night,  from  open  lattice  and  illuminated  balcony,  given 
light  and  music  to  the  shore.  It  glittered  on  the  broad 
crystal  spaces  of  a  great  conservatory  that  looked  upon  an 
exquisite  lawn,  where  all  night  long  the  blended  odors  of 
sea  and  shore  had  swooned  under  the  summer  moon.  But 
it  wrought  confusion  among  the  colored  lamps  on  the  long 
veranda,  and  startled  a  group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
had  stepped  from  the  drawing-room  window  to  gaze  upon 
it.  It  was  so  searching  and  sincere  in  its  way,  that,  as  the 
carriage  of  the  fairest  Miss  Gillyflower  rolled  away,  that 
peerless  young  woman,  catching  sight  of  her  face  in  the 
oval  mirror,  instantly  pulled  down  the  blinds,  and,  nest- 
ling the  whitest  shoulders  in  Greyport  against  the  crimson 
cushions,  went  to  sleep. 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  1G5 

"  How  haggard  everybody  is  !  Rose,  dear,  you  look 
almost  intellectual,"  said  Blanche  Masterman. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Rose  simply.  "  Sunrises  are  very 
trying.  Look  how  that  pink  regularly  puts  out  Mrs. 
Brown-Robinson,  hair  and  all !  " 

"  The  angels,"  said  the  Count  de  Nugat,  with  a  polite 
gesture  toward  the  sky,  "must  have  find  these  celestial 
combinations  very  bad  for  the  toilette." 

"  They  're  safe  in  white,  —  except  when  they  sit  for 
their  pictures  in  Venice,"  said  Blanche.  "  How  fresh  Mr. 
Islington  looks  !  It 's  really  uncomplimentary  to  us." 

"  I  suppose  the  sun  recognizes  in  me  no  rival,"  said  the 
young  man  demurely.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  I  have  lived 
much  in  the  open  air  and  require  very  little  sleep." 

"  How  delightful !  "  said  Mrs.  Brown-Robinson  in  a  low, 
enthusiastic  voice,  and  a  manner  that  held  the  glowing 
sentiment  of  sixteen  and  the  practical  experiences  of  thirty- 
two  in  dangerous  combination;  —  "how  perfectly  delightful ! 
What  sunrises  you  must  have  seen,  and  in  such  wild, 
romantic  places  !  How  I  envy  you  !  My  nephew  was  a 
classmate  of  yours,  and  has  often  repeated  to  me  those 
charming  stories  you  tell  of  your  adventures.  Won't  you 
tell  some  now  ?  Do !  How  you  must  tire  of  us  and  this 
artificial  life  here,  so  frightfully  artificial,  you  know  "  (in  a 
confidential  whisper)  ;  "  and  then  to  think  of  the  days 
when  you  roamed  the  great  West  with  the  Indians,  and 
the  bisons,  and  the  grizzly  bears !  Of  course,  you  have 
seen  grizzly  bears  and  bisons  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  has,  dear,"  said  Blanche  a  little  pettishly,, 
throwing  a  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and  seizing  her  chaperon 
by  the  arm  ;  "his  earliest  infancy  was  soothed  by  bisons, 
and  he  proudly  points  t'o  the  grizzly  bear  as  the  playmate 
of  his  youth.  Come  with  me,  and  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it. 
How  good  it  is  of  you,"  she  added,  sotto  voce,  to  Islington 
as  he  stood  by  the  carriage,  —  "  how  perfectly  good  it  is  of 


J06  MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

you  to  be  like  those  animals  you  tell  us  of,  and  not  know 
your  full  power.  Think,  with  your  experiences  and  our 
credulity,  what  stories  you  might  tell !  And  you  are  going 
to  walk  ?  Good-night,  then."  A  slim,  gloved  hand  was 
frankly  extended  from  the  window,  and  the  next  moment 
the  carriage  rolled  away. 

"  Is  n't  Islington  throwing  away  a  chance  there  ?  "  said 
Captain  Merwin  on  the  veranda. 

"Perhaps  he  couldn't  stand  my  lovely  aunt's  super- 
added  presence.  But  then,  he  's  the  guest  of  Blanche's 
father,  and  I  daresay  they  see  enough  of  each  other  as 
it  is." 

"  But  is  n't  it  a  rather  dangerous  situation  ?  " 

"  For  him,  perhaps  ;  although  he  's  awfully  old,  and  very 
queer.  For  her,  with  an  experience  that  takes  in  all  the 
available  men  in  both  hemispheres,  ending  with  Nugat 
over  there,  I  should  say  a  man  more  or  less  would  n't  affect 
her  much,  anyway.  Of  course,"  he  laughed,  "  these  are 
the  accents  of  bitterness.  But  that  was  last  year." 

Perhaps  Islington  did  not  overhear  the  speaker  ;  perhaps, 
if  he  did,  the  criticism  was  not  new.  He  turned  carelessly 
away,  and  sauntered  out  on  the  road  to  the  sea.  Thence 
he  strolled  along  the  sands  toward  the  cliffs,  where,  meeting 
an  impediment  in  the  shape  of  a  garden  wall,  he  leaped  it 
with  a  certain  agile,  boyish  ease  and  experience,  and  struck 
across  an  open  lawn  toward  the  rocks  again.  The  best 
society  of  Greyport  were  not  early  risers,  and  the  spectacle 
of  a  trespasser  in  an  evening  dress  excited  only  the  criticism 
of  grooms  hanging  about  the  stables,  or  cleanly  housemaids 
on  the  broad  verandas  that  in  Greyport  architecture  dutifully 
gave  upon  the  sea.  Only  once,  as  he  entered  the  boundaries 
of  Cliffwood  Lodge,  the  famous  seat  of  Renwyck  Masterman, 
was  he  aware  of  suspicious  scrutiny  ;  but  a  slouching  figure 
that  vanished  quickly  in  the  lodge  offered  no  opposition  to 
his  progress.  Avoiding  the  pathway  to  the  lodge,  Islington 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  107 

kept  along  the  rocks  until,  reaching  a  little  promontory  and 
rustic  pavilion,  he  sat  down  and  gazed  upon  the  sea. 

And  presently  an  infinite  peace  stole  upon  him.  Except 
where  the  waves  lapped  lazily  the  crags  below,  the  vast 
expanse  beyond  seemed  unbroken  by  ripple,  heaving  only 
in  broad  ponderable  sheets,  and  rhythmically,  as  if  still  in 
sleep.  The  air  was  filled  with  a  luminous  haze  that  caught 
and  held  the  direct  sunbeams.  In  the  deep  calm  that  lay 
upon  the  sea,  it  seemed  to  Islington  that  all  the  tenderness 
of  culture,  magic  of  wealth,  and  spell  of  refinement  that  for 
years  had  wrought  upon  that  favored  shore  had  extended 
its  gracious  influence  even  here.  What  a  pampered  and 
caressed  old  ocean  it  was ;  cajoled,  flattered,  and  feted  where 
it  lay  !  An  odd  recollection  of  the  turbid  Stanislaus  hurry- 
ing by  the  ascetic  pines,  of  the  grim  outlines  of  Dead  wood 
Hill,  swam  before  his  eyes,  and  made  the  yellow  green  of 
the  velvet  lawn  and  graceful  foliage  seem  almost  tropical  by 
contrast.  And,  looking  up,  a  few  yards  distant  he  beheld  a 
tall  slip  of  a  girl  gazing  upon  the  sea  —  Blanche  Masterman. 

She  had  plucked  somewhere  a  large  fan-shaped  leaf, 
which  she  held  parasol-wise,  shading  the  blonde  masses  of 
her  hair,  and  hiding  her  gray  eyes.  She  had  changed  her 
festal  dress,  with  its  amplitude  of  flounce  and  train,  for  a 
closely  fitting,  half-antique  habit  whose  scant  outlines  would 
have  been  trying  to  limbs  less  shapely,  but  which  prettily 
iiccented  the  graceful  curves  and  sweeping  lines  of  this 
Greyport  goddess.  As  Islington  rose,  she  came  toward 
him  with  a  frankly  outstretched  hand  and  unconstrained 
manner.  Had  she  observed  him  first?  I  don't  know. 

They  sat  down  together  on  a  rustic  seat,  Miss  Blanche 
facing  the  sea  and  shading  her  eyes  with  the  leaf. 

""I  don't  really  know  how  long  I  have  been  sitting  here," 
said  Islington,  "  or  whether  I  have  not  been  actually  asleep 
and  dreaming.  It  seemed  too  lovely  a  morning  to  go  to 
bed.  But  you  ?  " 


108  MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

From  behind  the  leaf,  it  appeared  that  Miss  Blanche,  on 
retiring,  had  been  pursued  by  a  hideous  four-winged  insect 
which  defied  the  efforts  of  herself  and  maid  to  dislodge. 
Odin,  the  Spitz  dog,  had  insisted  upon  scratching  at  the  door. 
And  it  made  her  eyes  red  to  sleep  in  the  morning.  And 
she  had  an  early  call  to  make.  And  the  sea  looked  lovely. 

"  I  Jm  glad  to  find  you  here,  whatever  be  the  cause," 
said  Islington,  with  his  old  directness.  "  To-day,  as  you 
know,  is  my  last  day  in  Greyport,  and  it  is  much  pleasanter 
to  say  good-by  under  this  blue  sky  than  even  beneath  your 
father's  wonderful  frescoes  yonder.  I  want  to  remember 
you,  too,  as  part  of  this  pleasant  prospect  which  belongs  to  us 
all,  rather  than  recall  you  in  anybody's  particular  setting." 

"  I  know,"  said  Blanche,  with  equal  directness,  "  that 
houses  are  one  of  the  defects  of  our  civilization ;  but  I 
don't  think  I  ever  heard  the  idea  as  elegantly  expressed 
before.  Where  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  I  have  several  plans.  I  may  go  to 
South  America  and  become  president  of  one  of  the  re- 
publics, —  I  am  not  particular  which.  I  am  rich,  but  in  that 
part  of  America  which  lies  outside  of  Greyport  it  is  neces- 
sary for  every  man  to  have  some  work.  My  friends  think 
I  should  have  some  great  aim  in  life,  with  a  capital  A.  But 
I  was  born  a  vagabond,  and  a  vagabond  I  shall  probably 
die." 

•  "  I  don't  know  anybody  in  South  America,"  said  Blanche 
languidly.  "There  were  two  girls  here  last  season,  but 
they  did  n't  wear  stays  in  the  house,  and  their  white  frocks 
.never  were  properly  done  up.  If  you  go  to  South  America, 
you  must  write  to  me." 

"  I  will.  Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  this  flower  which 
I  found  in  your  greenhouse  ?  It  looks  much  like  a  Cali- 
fornia blossom." 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  Father  bought  it  of  a  half-crazy  old  man 
who  came  here  one  day.  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  109 

Islington  laughed.  "  I  am  afraid  not.  But  let  me  pre- 
sent this  in  a  less  business-like  fashion." 

"  Thank  you.  Remind  me  to  give  you  one  in  return  be- 
fore you  go,  —  or  will  you  choose  yourself  ?  " 

They  had  both  risen  as  by  a  common  instinct. 

"  Good-by." 

The  cool,  flower-like  hand  lay  in  his  for  an  instant. 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  by  putting  aside  that  leaf  a  moment 
before  I  go  ?  " 

"  But  my  eyes  are  red,  and  I  look  like  a  perfect  fright." 

Yet,  after  a  long  pause,  the  leaf  fluttered  down,  and  a 
pair  of  very  beautiful  but  withal  very  clear  and  critical  eyes 
met  his.  Islington  was  constrained  to  look  away.  When 
he  turned  again  she  was  gone. 

"  Mr.  Hislington,  —  sir  !  " 

It  was  Chalker,  the  English  groom,  out  of  breath  with 
running. 

"  Seein'  you  alone,  sir — b?^  your  pardon,  sir  —  but 
there  's  a  person  "  — 

"  A  person  !  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?  Speak  Eng- 
lish—  no,  damn  it,  I  mean  don't,"  said  Islington  snappishly. 

"  I  said  a  person,  sir.  Beg  pardon  —  no  offense  —  but 
not  a  gent,  sir.  In  the  lib'ry." 

A  little  amused  even  through  the  utter  dissatisfaction 
with  himself  and  vague  loneliness  that  had  suddenly  come 
upon  him,  Islington,  as  he  walked  toward  the  lodge,  asked, 
"  Why  is  n't  he  a  gent  ?  " 

"  No  gent  —  beggin'  your  pardin,  sir  —  'ud  guy  a  man  in 
sarvis,  sir.  Takes  me  'ands  so,  sir,  as  I  sits  in  the  rumble 
at  the  gate,  and  puts  'em  downd  so,  sir,  and  sez,  '  Put  'em 
in  your  pocket,  young  man,  —  or  is  it  a  road  agint  you  ex- 
pects to  see,  that  you  'olds  hup  your  'ands,  hand  crosses 
'em  like  to  that  ?  '  sez  he.  « 'Old  'ard,'  sez  he,  <  on  the  short 
curves,  or  you'll  bust  your  precious  crust,'  sez  he.  And 
hasks  for  you,  sir.  This  way,  sir." 


HO  MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

They  entered  the  lodge.  Islington  hurried  down  the  long 
Gothic  hall  and  opened  the  library  door. 

In  an  armchair,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  a  man  sat 
apparently  contemplating  a  large,  stiff,  yellow  hat  with  an 
enormous  brim,  that  was  placed  on  the  floor  before  him. 
His  hands  rested  lightly  between  his  knees,  but  one  foot 
was  drawn  up  at  the  side  of  his  chair  in  a  peculiar  manner. 
In  the  first  glance  that  Islington  gave,  the  attitude  in  some 
odd,  irreconcilable  way  suggested  a  brake.  In  another 
moment  he  dashed  across  the  room,  and,  holding  out  both 
hands,  cried,  "  Yuba  Bill !  " 

The  man  rose,  caught  Islington  by  the  shoulders,  wheeled 
him  round,  hugged  him,  felt  of  his  ribs  like  a  good-natured 
ogre,  shook  his  hands  violently,  laughed,  and  then  said 
somewhat  ruefully,  "  And  however  did  you  know  me  ?  " 

Seeing  that  Yuba  Bill  evidently  regarded  himself  as  in 
some  elaborate  disguise,  Islington  laughed,  and  suggested 
that  it  must  have  been  instinct. 

"  And  you  ?  "  said  Bill,  holding  him  at  arm's  length  and 
surveying  him  critically,  —  "  you  !  —  toe  think  —  toe  think 
—  a  little  cuss  no  higher  nor  a  trace,  a  boy  as  I  've  flicked 
outer  the  road  with  a  whip  time  in  agin,  a  boy  ez  never  hed 
much  clothes  to  speak  of,  turned  into  a  sport !  " 

Islington  remembered,  with  a  thrill  of  ludicrous  terror, 
that  he  still  wore  his  evening  dress. 

"  Turned,"  continued  Yuba  Bill  severely,  —  "  turned  into 
arestyourant  waiter,  —  a  garsong  !  Eh,  Alfonse,  bring  mo 
a  patty  de  foy  grass  and  an  omelet,  demme  !  " 

"  Dear  old  chap  !  "  said  Islington,  laughing,  and  trying 
to  put  his  hand  over  Bill's  bearded  mouth,  "  but  you  —  you 
don't  look  exactly  like  yourself!  You're  not  well,  Bill." 
And  indeed,  as  he  turned  toward  the  light,  Bill's  eyes 
appeared  cavernous,  and  his  hair  and  beard  thickly  streaked 
with  gray. 

"  Maybe  it's  this  yer  harness,"  said  Bill  a  little  anxiously. 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  111 

ic  When  I  switches  on  this  yer  curb  "  (he  indicated  a  massive 
gold  watch-chain  with  enormous  links),  "and  mounts 
this  '  morning  star  '  "  (he  pointed  to  a  very  large  solitaire 
pin  which  had  the  appearance  of  blistering  his  whole  shirt- 
front),  "  it  kinder  weighs  heavy  on  me,  Tommy.  Other- 
wise I 'mall  right,  my  boy  —  all  right."  But  he  evaded 
Islington's  keen  eye  and  turned  from  the  light. 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  me,  Bill,"  said  Islington 
suddenly  and  with  almost  brusque  directness ;  "  out  with 
it." 

Bill  did  not  speak,  but  moved  uneasily  toward  his  hat. 

"  Yo\i  didn't  come  three  thousand  miles,  without  a  word 
of  warning,  to  talk  to  me  of  old  times,"  said  Islington 
more  kindly,  "  glad  as  I  would  have  been  to  see  you.  It 
isn't  your  way,  Bill,  and  you  know  it.  We  shall  not  be 
disturbed  here,"  he  added,  in  reply  to  an  inquiring  glance 
that  Bill  directed  to  the  door,  "  and  I  am  ready  to  hear 
you." 

"  Firstly,  then,"  said  Bill,  drawing  his  chair  nearer 
Islington,  "  answer  me  one  question,  Tommy,  fair  and 
square,  and  up  and  down." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Islington  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  Ef  I  should  say  to  you,  Tommy  —  say  to  you  to-day, 
right  here,  you  must  come  with  me  —  you  must  leave  this 
place  for  a  month,  a  year,  two  years,  maybe,  perhaps  for 
ever  —  is  there  anything  that  'ud  keep  you  —  anything,  my 
boy,  ez  you  couldn't  leave  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Tommy  quietly  ;  "  I  am  only  visiting  here. 
I  thought  of  leaving  Grey  port  to-day." 

"  But  if  I  should  say  to  you,  Tommy,  come  with  me  on 
a  pasear  to  Chiny,  to  Japan,  to  South  Aineriky,  p'r'aps, 
could  you  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Islington  after  a  slight  pause. 

"  Thar  isn't  ennything,"  said  Bill,  drawing  a  little  closer, 
and  lowering  his  voice  confidentially,  —  "'ennything  in  the 


Il2  MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

way  of  a  young  woman  —  you  understand,  Tommy  —  ez 
would  keep  you  ?  They  're  mighty  sweet  about  here  ;  and 
whether  a  man  is  young  or  old,  Tommy,  there's  always 
some  woman  as  is  brake  or  whip  to  him !  " 

In  a  certain  excited  bitterness  that  characterized  the 
delivery  of  this  abstract  truth,  Bill  did  not  see  that  the 
young  man's  face  flushed  slightly  as  he  answered  "No." 

"  Then  listen.  It 's  seven  years  ago,  Tommy,  thet  I  was 
working  one  o'  the  Pioneer  coaches  over  from  Gold  Hill. 
Ez  I  stood  in  front  o'  the  stage-office,  the  sheriff  o'  the 
county  comes  to  me,  and  he  sez,  '  Bill,'  sez  he,  '  I've  got  a 
looney  chap,  as  I'm  in  charge  of,  taking  'im  down  to  the 
'sylum  in  Stockton.  He'z  quiet  and  peaceable,  but  the 
insides  don't  like  to  ride  with  him.  Hev  you  enny  objec- 
tion to  give  him  a  lift  on  the  box  beside  you  ? '  I  sez, 
1  No ;  put  him  up.'  When  I  came  to  go  and  get  up  on 
that  box  beside  him,  that  man,  Tommy  —  that  man  sittin' 
there,  quiet  and  peaceable,  was  —  Johnson  ! 

"  He  did  n't  know  me,  my  boy,"  Yuba  Bill  continued, 
rising  and  putting  his  hands  on  Tommy's  shoulders,  —  "  he 
didn't  know  me.  He  didn't  know  nothing  about  you,  nor 
Angel's,  nor  the  quicksilver  lode,  nor  even  his  own  name. 
He  said  his  name  was  Skaggs,  but  I  knowed  it  was  Johnson. 
Thar  was  times,  Tommy,  you  might  have  knocked  me  off 
that  box  with  a  feather ;  thar  was  times  when  if  the  twenty- 
seven  passengers  o'  that  stage  hed  found  theirselves  swim- 
ming in  the  American  River  five  hundred  feet  below  the 
road,  I  never  could  have  explained  it  satisfactorily  to  the 
company,  —  never. 

"  The  sheriff  said,"  Bill  continued  hastily,  as  if  to  pre- 
clude any  interruption  from  the  young  man,  —  "the  sheriff 
said  he  had  been  brought  into  Murphy's  Camp  three  years 
before,  dripping  with  water,  and  sufferin'  from  perkussion 
of  the  brain,  and  had  been  cared  for  generally  by  the  boys 
'round.  When  I  -told  the  sheriff  I  knowed  'im,  I  got  him 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS  113 

to  leave  him  in  my  care ;  and  I  took  him  to  'Frisco,  Tommy, 
to  'Frisco,  and  I  put  him  in  charge  o'  the  best  doctors 
there,  and  paid  his  board  myself.  There  was  nothin'  he 
didn't  have  ez  he  wanted.  Don't  look  that  way,  my  dear 
boy,  for  God's  sake  don't !  " 

"  0  Bill !  "  said  Islington,  rising  and  staggering  to  the 
window,  "  why  did  you  keep  this  from  me  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Bill,  turning  on  him  savagely,  —  "  why  ? 
because  I  wa'n't  a  fool.  Thar  was  you,  winnin'  your  way 
in  college ;  thar  was  you,  risin'  in  the  world,  and  of  some 
account  to  it.  Yer  was  an  old  bummer,  ez  good  ez  dead  to 
it  —  a  man  ez  oughter  been  dead  afore  !  a  man  ez  never 
denied  it !  But  you  allus  liked  him  better  nor  me,"  said 
Bill  bitterly. 

"  Forgive  me,  Bill,"  said  the  young  man,  seizing  both 
his  hands.  "  I  know  you  did  it  for  the  best ;  but  go  on." 

"  Thar  ain't  much  more  to  tell,  nor  much  use  to  tell  it,  • 
as  I  can  see,"  said  Bill  moodily.  "  He  never  could  be 
cured,  the  doctors  said,  for  he  had  what  they  called  mono- 
mania —  was  always  talking  about  his  wife  and  darter  that 
somebody  had  stole  away  years  ago,  and  plannin'  revenge 
on  that  somebody.  And  six  months  ago  he  was  missed. 
I  tracked  him  to  Carson,  to  Salt  Lake  City,  to  Omaha,  to 
Chicago,  to  New  York,  —  and  here  !  " 

"  Here  !  "  echoed  Islington. 

"  Here  !  And  that 's  what  brings  me  here  to-day. 
Whether  he  's  crazy  or  well,  whether  he  's  huntin'  you  or 
lookin'  up  that  other  man,  you  must  get  away  from  here. 
You  must  n't  see  him.  You  and  me,  Tommy,  will  go  away 
on  a  cruise.  In  three  or  four  years  he  '11  be  dead  or  miss- 
ing, and  then  we  '11  come  back.  Come."  And  he  rose  to 
his  feet. 

"  Bill,"  said  Islington,  rising  also,  and  taking  the  hand 
of  his  friend  with  the  same  quiet  obstinacy  that  in  the  old 
days  had  endeared  him  to  Bill,  "  wherever  he  is,  here  01 


114  MRS.   SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

elsewhere,  sane  or  crazy,  I  shall  seek  and  find  him.  Every 
dollar  that  I  have  shall  be  his,  every  dollar  that  I  have 
spent  shall  be  returned  to  him.  I  am  young  yet,  thank 
God,  and  can  work ;  and  if  there  is  a  way  out  of  this  mis- 
erable business,  I  shall  find  it." 

"  I  knew,"  said  Bill  with  a  surliness  that  ill  concealed 
his  evident  admiration  of  the  calm  figure  before  him  —  "I 
knew  the  partikler  style  of  d — n  fool  that  you  was,  and 
expected  no  better.  Good  -  by,  then  —  God  Almighty  ! 
who's  that?" 

He  was  on  his  way  to  the  open  French  window,  but  had 
started  back,  his  face  quite  white  and  bloodless,  and  his 
eyes  staring.  Islington  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
A.  white  skirt  vanished  around  the  corner  of  the  veranda. 
When  he  returned,  Bill  had  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"  It  must  have  been  Miss  Masterman,  I  think  ;  but 
what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Bill  faintly ;  "  have  you  got  any  whiskey 
handy  ? " 

Islington  brought  a  decanter  and,  pouring  out  some 
spirits,  handed  the  glass  to  Bill.  Bill  drained  it,  and  then 
said,  "  Who  is  Miss  Masterman  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Masterman's  daughter ;  that  is,  an  adopted  daugh- 
ter, I  believe." 

"  Wot  name  ?  " 

"I  really  don't  know,"  said  Islington  pettishly,  more 
vexed  than  he  cared  to  own  at  this  questioning. 

Yuba  Bill  rose  and  walked  to  the  Avindow,  closed  it, 
walked  back  again  to  the  door,  glanced  at  Islington,  hesi- 
tated, and  then  returned  to  his  chair. 

"  I  did  n't  tell  you  I  was  married  —  did  I  ?  "  he  said 
suddenly,  looking  up  in  Islington's  lace  with  an  unsuccess- 
ful attempt  at  a  reckless  laugh. 

"No,"  said  Islington,  more  pained  at  the  manner  than 
the  words. 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS  115 

''Fact,"  said  Yuba  Bill.  "Three  years  ago  it  was, 
Tommy,  —  three  years  ago  !  " 

He  looked  so  hard  at  Islington  that,  feeling  he  was 
expected  to  say  something,  he  asked  vaguely,  "  Whom  did 
you  marry  ?  " 

"  Thet  's  it  !  "  said  Yuba  Bill  ;  "  I  can't  ezactly  say  ; 
partikly,  though  a  she-devil !  generally,  the  wife  of  half  a 
dozen  other  men." 

Accustomed,  apparently,  to  have  his  conjugal  infelicities 
a  theme  of  mirth  among  men,  and  seeing  no  trace  of  amuse- 
ment on  Islington's  grave  face,  his  dogged,  reckless  manner 
softened,  and,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  Islington,  he  went 
on  :  "  It  all  began  outer  this  :  we  was  coming  down  Wat- 
son's grade  one  night  pretty  free,  when  the  expressman 
turns  to  me  and  says,  '  There  's  a  row  inside,  and  you  'd 
better  pull  up  !  '  I  pulls  up,  and  out  hops,  first  a  woman, 
and  then  two  or  three  chaps  swearin'  and  cursin',  and  try- 
in'  to  drag  some  one  arter  them.  Then  it  'peared,  Tommy, 
thet  it  was  this  woman's  drunken  husband  they  was  going 
to  put  out  for  abusin'  her  and  strikin'  her  in  the  coach ; 
and  if  it  had  n't  been  for  me,  my  boy,  they  'd  have  left 
that  chap  thar  in  the  road.  But  I  fixes  matters  up  by  put- 
ting her  alongside  o'  me  on  the  box,  and  we  drove  on.  She 
was  very  white,  Tommy,  —  for  the  matter  o'  that,  she  was 
always  one  o'  these  very  white  women,  that  never  got  red 
in  the  face,  —  but  she  never  cried  a  whimper.  Most  women 
would  have  cried.  It  was  queer,  but  she  never  cried.  I 
thought  so  at  the  time. 

"  She  was  very  tall,  with  a  lot  o'  light  hair  meandering 
down  the  back  of  her  head,  as  long  as  a  deerskin  whiplash, 
and  about  the  color.  She  bed  eyes  thet  'd  bore  ye  through 
at  fifty  yards,  and  pooty  hands  and  feet.  And  when  she 
kinder  got  out  o'  that  stiff,  narvous  state  she  was  in,  and 
warmed  up  a  little,  and  got  chipper,  by  G — d,  sir,  she  was 
handsome,  —  she  was  that !  " 


116  MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

A  little  flushed  and  embarrassed  at  his  own  enthusiasm, 
he  stopped,  and  then  said  carelessly,  "  They  got  off  at 
Murphy's." 

"  Well,"  said  Islington. 

"  Well,  I  used  to  see  her  often  arter  thet,  and  when  she 
was  alone  she  allus  took  the  box-seat.  She  kinder  confided 
her  troubles  to  me,  how  her  husband  got  drunk  and  abused 
her ;  and  I  did  n't  see  much  o'  him,  for  he  was  away  in 
'Frisco  arter  thet.  But  it  was  all  square,  Tommy,  —  all 
square  'twixt  me  and  her. 

"I  got  a-going  there  a  good  deal,  and  then  one  day  I 
sez  to  myself,  'Bill,  this  won't  do,'  and  I  got  changed 
to  another  route.  Did  you  ever  know  Jackson  Filltree, 
Tommy  ?  "  said  Bill,  breaking  off  suddenly. 

"No." 

"  Might  have  heerd  of  him,  p'r'aps  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Islington  impatiently. 

"Jackson  Filltree  ran  the  express  from  White's  out  to 
Summit,  'cross  the  North  Fork  of  the  Yuba.  One  day  he 
sez  to  me,  '  Bill,  that 's  a  mighty  bad  ford  at  the  North 
Fork.'  I  sez,  '  I  believe  you,  Jackson.'  '  It  '11  git  me  some 
day,  Bill,  sure,'  sez  he.  I  sez,  '  Why  don't  you  take  the 
lower  ford?'  'I  don't  know,'  sez  he,  'but  I  can't.'  So 
ever  after,  when  I  met  him,  he  sez,  '  That  North  Fork  ain't 
got  me  yet.'  One  day  I  was  in  Sacramento,  and  up  comes 
Filltree.  He  sez,  '  I  've  sold  out  the  express  business  on 
account  of  the  North  Fork,  but  it 's  bound  to  get  me  yet, 
Bill,  sure ; '  and  he  laughs.  Two  weeks  after  they  finds  his 
body  below  the  ford,  whar  he  tried  to  cross,  comin'  down 
from  the  summit  way.  Folks  said  it  was  foolishness ; 
Tommy,  I  sez  it  was  Fate  !  The  second  day  arter  I  was 
changed  to  the  Placerville  route,  thet  woman  comes,  outer 
the  hotel  above  the  stage-office.  Her  husband,  she  said, 
was  lying  sick  in  Placerville  ;  that 's  what  she  said ;.  but  it 
was  Fate,  Tommy,  Fate.  Three  months  afterward,  her 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  117 

husband  takes  an  overdose  of  morphine  for  delirium  tre- 
mens,  and  dies.  There's  folks  ez  sez  she  gave  it  to  him, 
but  it 's  Fate.  A  year  after  that  I  married  her,  —  Fate, 
Tommy,  Fate  ! 

"  I  lived  with  her  jest  three  months,"  he  went  on,  after 
a  long  breath,  —  "three  months!  It  ain't  much  time  for 
a  happy  man.  I've  seen  a  good  deal  o'  hard  life  in  my 
day,  but  there  was  days  in  that  three  months  longer  than 
any  day  in  my  life,  —  days,  Tommy,  when  it  was  a  toss-up 
whether  I  should  kill  her  or  she  me.  But  thar,  I  'm  done. 
You  are  a  young  man,  Tommy,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  tell 
things  thet,  old  as  I  am,  three  years  ago  I  could  n't  have 
believed." 

When  at  last,  with  his  grim  face  turned  toward  the  win- 
dow, he  sat  silently  with  his  clenched  hands  on  his  knees 
before  him,  Islington  asked  where  his  wife  was  now. 

"  Ask  me  no  more,  my  boy,  —  no  more.  I  've  said  my 
say."  With  a  gesture  as  of  throwing  down  a  pair  of  reins 
before  him,  he  rose,  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"  You  kin  understand,  Tommy,  why  a  little  trip  around 
the  world  'ud  do  me  good.  Ef  you  can't  go  with  me,  well 
and  good.  But  go  I  must." 

"  Not  before  luncheon,  I  hope,"  said  a  very  sweet 
voice,  as  Blanche  Masterman  suddenly  stood  before  them. 
"  Father  would  never  forgive  me  if  in  his  absence  I  per- 
mitted one  of  Mr.  Islington's  friends  to  go  in  this  way. 
You  will  stay,  won't  you  ?  Do  !  And  you  -will  give  me 
your  arm  now ;  and  when  Mr.  Islington  has  done  staring, 
he  will  follow  us  into  the  dining-room  and  introduce 
you." 

<l~L  have  quite  fallen  in  love  with  your  friend,"  said 
Miss  Blanche,  as  they  stood  in  the  drawing-room  looking  at 
the  figure  of  Bill,  strolling,  with  his  short  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
through  the  distant  shrubbery.  "  He  asks  very  queer  ques- 


118  MKS.    SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS 

tions,  though.  He  wanted  to  know  my  mother's  maiden 
name." 

"  He  is  an  honest  fellow,"  said  Islington  gravely. 

"  You  are  very  much  subdued.  You  don't  thank  me,  I 
daresay,  for  keeping  you  and  your  friend  here ;  but  you 
could  n't  go,  you  know,  until  father  returned." 

Islington  smiled,  but  not  very  gayly. 

"  And  then  I  think  it  much  better  for  us  to  part  here 
under  these  frescoes,  don't  you  ?  Good-by." 

She  extended  her  long,  slim  hand. 

"  Out  in  the  sunlight  there,  when  my  eyes  were  red,  you 
were  very  anxious  to  look  at  me,"  she  added  in  a  dangerous 
voice. 

Islington  raised  his  sad  eyes  to  hers.  Something  glitter- 
ing upon  her  own  sweet  lashes  trembled  and  fell. 

"  Blanche  !  " 

She  was  rosy  enough  now,  and  would  have  withdrawn 
her  hand,  but  Islington  detained  it.  She  was  not  quite  cer- 
tain but  that  her  waist  was  also  in  jeopardy.  Yet  she 
could  not  help  saying,  "  Are  you  sure  that  there  is  n't  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  a  young  woman  that  would  keep  you  ?  " 

"  Blanche  !  "  said  Islington  in  reproachful  horror. 

"  If  gentlemen  will  roar  out  their  secrets  before  an  open 
window,  with  a  young  woman  lying  on  a  sofa  on  the  ve- 
randa, reading  a  stupid  French  novel,  they  must  not  be  sur- 
prised if  she  gives  more  attention  to  them  than  to  her  book." 

"  Then  you  know  all,  Blanche  ?  " 

"'I  know,"  said  Blanche,  "let's  see  —  I  know  the  par- 
tikler  style  of  —  ahem !  —  fool  you  was,  and  expected  no 
better.  Good-by."  And,  gliding  like  a  lovely  and  inno- 
cent milk  snake  out  of  his  grasp,  she  slipped  away. 

To  the  pleasant  ripple  of  waves,  the  sound  of  music  and 
light  voices,  the  yellow  midsummer  moon  again  rose  over 
Greyport.  It  looked  upon  formless  masses  of  rock  and 


MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS  119 

shrubbery,  wide  spaces  of  lawn  and  beach,  and  a  shimmer- 
ing expanse  of  water.  It  singled  out  particular  objects,  —  a 
white  sail  in  shore,  a  crystal  globe  upon  the  lawn,  and 
flashed  upon  something  held  between  the  teeth  of  a  crouch- 
ing figure  scaling  the  low  wall  of  Cliffwood  Lodge.  Then, 
as  a  man  and  woman  passed  out  from  under  the  shadows  of 
the  foliage  into  the  open  moonlight  of  the  garden  path,  the 
figure  leaped  from  the  wall,  and  stood  erect  and  waiting  in 
the  shadow. 

It  was  the  figure  of  an  old  man,  with  rolling  eyes,  his 
trembling  hand  grasping  a  long,  keen  knife,  —  a  figure  more 
pitiable  than  pitiless,  more  pathetic  than  terrible.  But  the 
next  moment  the  knife  was  stricken  from  his  hand,  and  he 
struggled  in  the  firm  grasp  of  another  figure  that  apparently 
sprang  from  the  wall  beside  him. 

"  D — n  you,  Masterman  !  "  cried  the  old  man  hoarsely ; 
"  give  me  fair  play,  and  I  '11  kill  you  yet !  " 

"  Which  my  name  is  Yuba  Bill,"  said  Bill  quietly,  "  and 
it 's  time  this  d — n  fooling  was  stopped." 

The  old  man  glared  in  Bill's  face  savagely.  "  I  know 
you.  You  're  one  of  Masterman's  friends,  —  d — n  you, 

—  let  me  go  till  I  cut  his  heart  out,  —  let  me  go  !     Where 
is  my  Mary  ?  —  where  is  my  wife  ?  —  there  she  is  !  there  ! 

—  there!  —  there!      Mary!"      He   would    have  screamed, 
but  Bill  placed  his  powerful  hand  upon  his  mouth  as  he  turned 
in  the  direction  of  the  old  man's  glance.      Distinct  in  the 
moonlight  the  figures  of  Islington  and  Blanche,  arm  in  arm, 
stood  out  upon  the  garden  path. 

"  Give  me  my  wife !  "  muttered  the  old  man  hoarsely 
between  Bill's  fingers.  "  Where  is  she  ?  " 

A  sudden  fury  passed  over  Yuba  Bill's  face.  "  Where  is 
your  wife  ?  "  he  echoed,  pressing  the  old  man  back  against 
the  garden  wall,  and  holding  him  there  as  in  a  vise. 
"  Where  is  your  wife  ?  "  he  repeated,  thrusting  his  grim 
.  jaw  and  savage  eyes  into  the  old  man's  frightened 


120  MRS.    SKAGGS'S    HUSBANDS 

face.  "  Where  is  Jack  Adam's  wife  ?  Where  is  MY  wife  ? 
Where  is  the  she-devil  that  drove  one  man  mad,  that  sent 
another  to  hell  hy  his  own  hand,  that  eternally  broke  and 
ruined  me  ?  Where  !  Where !  Do  you  ask  where  ?  In 
jail  in  Sacramento,  —  in  jail,  do  you  hear  ?  —  in  jail  for 
murder,  Johnson,  —  murder  !  " 

The  old  man  gasped,  stiffened,  and  then,  relaxing,  sud- 
denly slipped,  a  mere  .inanimate  mass,  at  Yuba  Bill's  feet. 
With  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  Yuba  Bill  dropped  at 
his  side,  and,  lifting  him  tenderly  in  his  arms,  whispered, 
"  Look  up,  old  man,  Johnson  !  look  up,  for  God's  sake  !  — 
it 's  me,  —  Yuba  Bill !  and  yonder  is  your  daughter,  and  — 
Tommy  —  don't  you  know  —  Tommy,  little  Tommy  Isling- 
ton ?  " 

Johnson's  eyes  slowly  opened.  He  whispered,  "  Tom- 
my !  yes,  Tommy  !  Sit  by  me,  Tommy.  But  don't  sit  so 
near  the  bank.  Don't  you  see  how  the  river  is  rising  and 
beckoning'  to  me  —  hissing,  and  boilin'  over  the  rocks  ? 
It 's  gittin'  higher  !  —  hold  me,  Tommy,  —  hold  me,  and 
don't  let  me  go  yet.  We  '11  live  to  cut  his  heart  out,  Tom- 
my, —  we  '11  live  — we  '11 "  — 

His  head  sank,  and  the  rushing  river,  invisible  to  all  eyes 
save  his,  leaped  toward  him  out  of  the  darkness,  and  bore 
him  away,  no  longer  to  the  darkness,  but  through  it  to  the 
distant,  peaceful,  shining  sea. 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

IN  1858  Fiddletown  considered  her  a  very  pretty  woman, 
She  had  a  quantity  of  light  chestnut  hair,  a  good  figure,  a 
dazzling  complexion,  and  a  certain  languid  grace  which 
passed  easily  for  gentlewomanliness.  She  always  dressed 
becomingly,  and  in  what  Fiddletown  accepted  as  the  latest 
fashion.  She  had  only  two  blemishes  :  one  of  her  velvety 
eyes,  when  examined  closely,  had  a  slight  cast,  and  her  left 
cheek  bore  a  small  scar  left  by  a  single  drop  of  vitriol  — 
happily  the  only  drop  of  an  entire  phial  thrown  upon  her 
by  one  of  her  own  jealous  sex  that  reached  the  pretty  face 
it  was  intended  to  mar.  But  when  the  observer  had  studied 
the  eyes  sufficiently  to  notice  this  defect,  he  was  generally 
incapacitated  for  criticism,  and  even  the  scar  on  her  cheek 
was  thought  by  some  to  add  piquancy  to, her  smile.  The 
youthful  editor  of  the  Fiddletown  "  Avalanche  "  had  said 
privately  that  it  was  "  an  exaggerated  dimple."  Colonel 
Starbottle  was  instantly  "  reminded  of  the  beautifying 
patches  of  the  days  of  Queen  Anne,  but  more  particularly, 
sir,  of  the  blankest  beautiful  woman,  that,  blank  you,  you 
ever  laid  your  two  blank  eyes  upon.  A  creole  woman,  sir, 
in  New  Orleans.  And  this  woman  had  a  scar  —  a  line  ex- 
tending, blank  me,  from  her  eye  to  her  blank  chin.  And 
this  woman,  sir,  thrilled  you,  sir,  maddened  you,  sir, 
absolutely  sent  your  blank  soul  to  perdition  with  her  blank 
fascination.  And  one  day  I  said  to  her,  {  Celeste,  how  in 
blank  did  you  come  by  that  beautiful  scar,  blank  you  ?  ' 
And  she  said  to  me,  '  Star,  there  is  n't  another  white  man 
that  I  'd  confide  in  but  you,  but  I  made  that  scar  myself, 


122  AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

purposely,  I  did,  blank  me.'  These  were  her  very  words, 
sir,  and  perhaps  you  think  it  a  blank  lie,  sir,  but  I  '11  put 
up  any  blank  sum  you  can  name  and  prove 'it,  blank  me." 

Indeed,  most  of  the  male  population  of  Fiddletown  were 
or  had  been  in  love  with  her.  Of  this  number  about  one 
half  believed  that  their  love  was  returned,  with  the  excep- 
tion, possibly,  of  her  own  husband.  He  alone  had  been 
known  to  express  skepticism. 

The  name  of  the  gentleman  who  enjoyed  this  infelicitous 
distinction  was  Tretherick.  He  had  been  divorced  from 
an  excellent  wife  to  marry  this  Fiddletown  enchantress. 
She  also  had  been  divorced,  but  it  was  hinted  that  some 
previous  experiences  of  hers  in  that  legal  formality  had 
made  it  perhaps  less  novel  and  probably  less  sacrificial.  I 
would  not  have  it  inferred  from  this  that  she  was  deficient 
in  sentiment  or  devoid  of  its  highest  moral  expression.  Her 
intimate  friend  had  written  (on  the  occasion  of  her  second 
divorce),  "  The  cold  world  does  not  understand  Clara  yet," 
and  Colonel  Starbottle  had  remarked,  blankly,  that  with 
the  exception  of  a  single  woman  in  Opelousas  Parish, 
Louisiana,  she  hatl  more  soul  than  the  whole  caboodle  of 
them  put  together.  Few  indeed  could  read  those  lines 
entitled  "  Infelissimus,"  commencing,  "  Why  waves  no 
cypress  o'er  this  brow,"  originally  published  in  the 
"  Avalanche "  over  the  signature  of  "  The  Lady  Clare," 
without  feeling  the  tear  of  sensibility  tremble  on  his  eye- 
lids, or  the  glow  of  virtuous  indignation  mantle  his  cheek 
at  the  low  brutality  and  pitiable  jocularity  of  the  "  Dutch 
Flat  Intelligencer,"  which  the  next  week  had  suggested  the 
exotic  character  of  the  cypress  and  its  entire  absence  from 
Fiddletown  as  a  reasonable  answer  to  the  query. 

Indeed,  it  was  this  tendency  to  elaborate  her  feelings  in 
a  metrical  manner,  and  deliver  them  to  the  cold  world 
through  the  medium  of  the  newspapers,  that  first  attracted 
the  attention  of  Tretherick.  Several  poems  descriptive  of 


AN   EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  123 

the  effects  of  California  scenery  upon  a  too  sensitive  soul,, 
and  of  the  vague  yearnings  for  the  infinite  which  an  en- 
forced study  of  the  heartlessness  of  California  society  pro- 
duced in  the  poetic  breast,  impressed  Mr.  Tretherick,  who 
was  then  driving  a  six-mule  freight  wagon  between  Knight's 
Ferry  and  Stockton,  to  seek  out  the  unknown  poetess. 
Mr.  Tretherick  was  himself  dimly  conscious  of  a  certain 
hidden  sentiment  in  his  own  nature,  and  it  is  possible  that 
some  reflections  on  the  vanity  of  his  pursuit  —  he  supplied 
several  mining  camps  with  whiskey  and  tobacco  —  in  con- 
junction with  the  dreariness  of  the  dusty  plain  on  which  he 
habitually  drove,  may  have  touched  some  chord  in  sym- 
pathy with  this  sensitive  woman.  Howbeit,  after  a  brief 
courtship  —  as  brief  as  was  consistent  with  some  previous 
legal  formalities  —  they  were  married,  and  Mr.  Tretherick 
brought  his  blushing  bride  to  Fiddletown,  or  "  Fideletown," 
as  Mrs.  T.  preferred  to  call  it  in  her  poems. 

The  union  was  not  a  felicitous  one.  It  was  not  long 
before  Mr.  Tretherick  discovered  that  the  sentiment  he  had 
fostered  while  freighting  between  Stockton  and  Knight's 
Ferry  was  different  from  that  which  his  wife  had  evolved 
from  the  contemplation  of  California  scenery  and  her  own 
soul.  Being  a  man  of  imperfect  logic,  this  caused  him  to 
beat  her,  and  she,  being  equally  faulty  in  deduction,  was 
impelled  to  a  certain  degree  of  unfaithfulness  on  the  same 
premise.  Then  Mr.  Tretherick  began  to  drink,  and  Mrs. 
T.  to  contribute  regularly  to  the  columns  of  the  "  Ava- 
lanche." It  was  at  this  time  that  Colonel  Starbottle  dis- 
covered a  similarity  in  Mrs.  T.'s  verse  to  the  genius  of 
Sappho,  and  pointed  it  out  to  the  citizens  of  Fiddletown  in 
a  two-columned  criticism,  signed  "  A.  S.,"  also  published  in 
the  "  Avalanche  "  and  supported  by  extensive  quotation. 
As  the  "Avalanche1'  did  not  possess  a  font  of  Greek  typo, 
the  editor  was  obliged  to  reproduce  the  Leucadian  numbers 
in  the  ordinary  Roman  letter,  to  the  intense  disgust  ol 


124  AN    EPISODE    OF   FIDDLEYOWN 

Colonel  Starbottle,  and  the  vast  delight  of  Fiddletown,  who 
saw  fit  to  accept  the  text  as  an  excellent  imitation  of 
Choctaw  —  a  language  with  which  the  Colonel,  as  a  whilom 
resident  of  the  Indian  territories,  was  supposed  to  be 
familiar.  Indeed,  the  next  week's  "  Intelligencer "  con- 
tained some  vile  doggerel,  supposed  to  be  an  answer  to 
Mrs.  T.'s  poem,  ostensibly  written  by  the  wife  of  a  Digger 
Indian  chief,  accompanied  by  a  glowing  eulogium  signed 
"  A.  S.  S." 

The  result  of  this  jocularity  was  briefly  given  in  a  later 
copy  of  the  "  Avalanche."  "  An  unfortunate  rencontre 
took  place  on  Monday  last  between  the  Hon.  Jackson  Flash, 
of  the  '  Dutch  Flat  Intelligencer,'  and  the  well-known 
Colonel  Starbottle  of  this  place,  in  front  of  the  Eureka 
Saloon.  Two  shots  were  fired  by  the  parties  without 
injury  to  either,  although  it  is  said  that  a  passing  Chinaman 
received  fifteen  buckshot  in  the  calves  of  his  legs  from  the 
Colonel's  double-barreled  shotgun  which  were  not  intended 
for  him.  John  will  learn  to  keep  'out  of  the  way  of 
Melican  man's  firearms  hereafter.  The  cause  of  the  affray 
is  not  known,  although  it  is  hinted  that  there  is  a  lady  in 
the  case.  The  rumor  that  points  to  a  well-known  and 
beautiful  poetess,  whose  lucubrations  have  often  graced  our 
columns,  seems  to  gain  credence  from  those  that  are 
posted." 

Meanwhile  the  passiveness  displayed  by  Tretherick  under 
these  trying  circumstances  was  fully  appreciated  in  the 
gulches.  "The  old  man's  head  is  level,"  said  one  long- 
booted  philosopher.  "  Ef  the  Colonel  kills  Flash,  Mrs. 
Tretherick  is  avenged  ;  if  Flash  drops  the  Colonel,  Treth- 
erick is  all  right.  Either  way  he's  got  a  sure  thing." 
During  this  delicate  condition  of  affairs  Mrs.  Tretherick  one 
day  left  her  husband's  home  and  took  refuge  at  the  Fiddle- 
town  Hotel,  with  only  the  clothes  she  had  on  her  back. 
Here  she  stayed  for  several  weeks,  during  which  period  it 


AN    EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  1^6 

is  only  justice  to  say  that  she  bore  herself  with  the  strictest 
propriety. 

It  was  a  clear  morning  in  early  spring  that  Mrs.  Trether- 
ick,  unattended,  left  the  hotel  and  walked  down  the  narrow 
street  toward  the  fringe  of  dark  pines  which  indicated  the 
extreme  limits  of  Fiddletown.  The  few  loungers  at  that 
early  hour  were  preoccupied  with  the  departure  of  the 
Wingdam  coach  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  street,  and 
Mrs.  Tretherick  reached  the  suburbs  of  the  settlement  with- 
out discomposing  observation.  Here  she  took  a  cross  street 
or  road  running  at  right  angles  with  the  main  thoroughfare 
of  Fiddletown,  and  passing  through  a  belt  of  woodland.  It 
was  evidently  the  exclusive  and  aristocratic  avenue  of  the 
town;  the  dwellings  were  few,  ambitious,  and  uninterrupted 
by  shops.  And  here  she  was  joined  by  Colonel  Starbottle. 

The  gallant  Colonel,  notwithstanding  that  he  bore  the 
swelling  port  which  usually  distinguished  him,  —  that  his  coat 
was  tightly  buttoned  and  his  boots  tightly  fitting,  and  that 
his  cane,  hooked  over  his  arm,  swung  jauntily,  —  was  not 
entirely  at  his  ease.  Mrs.  Tretherick,  however,  vouchsafed 
him  a  gracious  smile  and  a  glance  of  her  dangerous  eyes, 
and  the  Colonel,  with  an  embarrassed  cough  and  a  slight 
strut,  took  his  place  at  her  side. 

"The  coast  is  clear,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  Tretherick 
is  over  at  Dutch  Flat  on  a  spree  ;  there  is  no  one  in  the 
house  but  a  Chinaman,  and  you  need  fear  no  trouble  from 
him.  /,"  he  continued,  with  a  slight  inflation  of  the  chest 
that  imperiled  the  security  of  his  button,  —  "  I  will  see  that 
you  are  protected  in  the  removal  of  your  property." 

"  I  'm  sure  it 's  very  kind  of  you,  and  so  disinterested," 
simpered  the  lady  as  they  walked  along.  "  It 's  so  pleasant 
to  meet  some  one  who  has  a  soul  —  some  one  to  sympathize 
with  in  a  community  so  hardened  and  heartless  as  this." 
And  Mrs.  Tretherick  cast  down  her  eyes,  but  not  until  they 
had  wrought  their  perfect  and  accepted  work  upon  her  com- 
nanion. 


126  AN   EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN 

"  Yes,  certainly,  of  course,"  said  the  Colonel,  glancing 
nervously  up  and  down  the  street ;  "  yes,  certainly."  Per- 
ceiving, however,  that  there  was  np  one  in  sight  or  hearing, 
he  proceeded  at  once  to  inform  Mrs.  Tretherick  that  the 
great  trouble  of  his  life,  in  fact,  had  been  the  possession  of 
too  much  soul.  That  many  women  —  as  a  gentleman  she 
would  excuse  him,  of  course,  from  mentioning  names  —  but 
many  beautiful  women  had  often  sought  his  society,  but, 
being  deficient,  madam,  absolutely  deficient  in  this  quality, 
he  could  not  reciprocate.  But  when  two  natures  thoroughly 
in  sympathy  —  despising  alike  the  sordid  trammels  of  a  low 
and  vulgar  community  and  the  conventional  restraints  of  a 
hypocritical  society  —  when  two  souls  in  perfect  accord  met 
and  mingled  in  poetical  union,  then  —  but  here  the  Colonel's 
speech,  which  had  been  remarkable  for  a  certain  whiskey- 
and- watery  fluency,  grew  husky,  almost  inaudible,  and 
decidedly  incoherent.  Possibly  Mrs.  Tretherick  may  have 
heard  something  like  it  before,  and  was  enabled  to  fill  the 
hiatus.  Nevertheless,  the  cheek  that  was  on  the  side  of  the 
Colonel  was  quite  virginal  and  bashfully  conscious  until  they 
reached  their  destination. 

It  was  a  pretty  little  cottage,  quite  fresh  and  warm  with 
paint,  very  pleasantly  relieved  against  a  platoon  of  pines, 
some  of  whose  foremost  files  had  been  displaced  to  give 
freedom  to  the  fenced  inclosure  in  which  it  sat.  In  the 
vivid  sunlight  and  perfect  silence  it  had  a  new,  uninhabited 
look,  as  if  the  carpenters  and  painters  had  just  left  it.  At 
the  farther  end  of  the  lot  a  Chinaman  was  stolidly  digging, 
but  there  was  no  other  sign  of  occupancy.  "  The  coast," 
as  the  Colonel  had  said,  was  indeed  "  clear."  Mrs.  Treth- 
erick paused  at  the  gate.  The  Colonel  would  have  entered 
with  her,  but  was  stopped  by  a  gesture.  "  Come  for  me  in 
a  couple  of  hours,  and  I  shall  have  everything  packed,"  she 
said,  as  she  smiled  and  extended  her  hand.  The  Colonel 
seized  and  pressed  it  with  great  fervor.  Perhaps  the  pres- 


AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  127 

sure  was  slightly  returned,  for  the  gallant  Colonel  was 
impelled  to  innate  his  chest  and  trip  away  as  smartly  as  his 
stubby  -  toed,  high  -  heeled  boots  would  permit.  When  he 
had  gone,  Mrs.  Tretherick  opened  the  door,  listened  a  mo- 
ment in  the  deserted  hall,  and  then  ran  quickly  upstairs  to 
what  had  been  her  bedroom. 

Everything  there  was  unchanged  as  on  the  night  she 
left  it.  On  the  dressing-table  stood  her  bandbox,  as  she 
remembered  to  have  left  it  when  she  took  out  her  bonnet. 
On  the  mantel  lay  the  other  glove  she  had  forgotten  in 
her  flight.  The  two  lower  drawers  of  the  bureau  were 
half  open,  —  she  had  forgotten  to  shut  them,  —  and  on  its 
marble  top  lay  her  shawl-pin  and  a  soiled  cuff.  What  other 
recollections  came  upon  her  I  know  not,  but  she  suddenly 
grew  quite  white,  shivered,  and  listened  with  a  beating 
heart  and  her  hand  upon  the  door.  Then  she  stepped  to 
the  mirror,  and  half  fearfully,  half  curiously,  parted  with 
her  fingers  the  braids  of  her  blonde  hair  above  her  little 
pink  ear,  until  she  came  upon  an  ugly,  half-healed  scar. 
She  gazed  at  this,  moving  her  pretty  head  up  and  down  to 
get  a  better  light  upon  it,  until  the  slight  cast  in  her  vel- 
vety eyes  became  very  strongly  marked  indeed.  Then  she 
turned  away  with  a  light,  reckless,  foolish  laugh,  and  ran 
to  the  closet  where  hung  her  precious  dresses.  These  she 
inspected  nervously,  and,  missing  suddenly  a  favorite  black 
silk  from  its  accustomed  peg  for  a  moment,  thought  she 
should  have  fainted.  But  discovering  it  the  next  instant, 
lying  upon  a  trunk  where  she  had  thrown  it,  a  feeling  of 
thankfulness  to  a  Superior  Being  who  protects  the  friend- 
less for  the  first  time  sincerely  thrilled  her.  Then,  albeit 
she  was  hurried  for  time,  she  could  not  resist  trying  the 
effect  of  a  certain  lavender  neck-ribbon,  upon  the  dress  she 
was  Wearing,  before  the  mirror.  Suddenly  she  became 
aware  of  a  child's  voice  close  beside  her  and  she  stopped. 
And  then  the  child's  voice  repeated,  "  Is  it  mamma  ?  " 


128  AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

Mrs.  Tretherick  faced  quickly  about.  Standing  in  the 
doorway  was  a  little  girl  of  six  or  seven.  Her  dress  had 
been  originally  fine,  but  was  torn  and  dirty,  and  her  hair, 
which  was  a  very  violent  red,  was  tumbled  serio-comically 
about  her  forehead.  For  all  this  she  was  a  picturesque 
little  thing,  even  through  whose  childish  timidity  there 
was  a  certain  self-sustained  air  which  is  apt  to  come  upon 
children  who  are  left  much  to  themselves.  She  was  hold- 
ing under  her  arm  a  rag  doll,  apparently  of  her  own  work- 
manship and  nearly  as  large  as  herself  —  a  doll  with  a 
cylindrical  head  and  features  roughly  indicated  with  char- 
coal. A  long  shawl,  evidently  belonging  to  a  grown  person, 
dropped  from  her  shoulders  and  swept  the  floor. 

The  spectacle  did  not  excite  Mrs.  Tretherick's  delight. 
Perhaps  she  had  but  a  small  sense  of  humor.  Certainly, 
when  the  child,  still  standing  in  the  doorway,  again  asked, 
"  Is  it  mamma  ?  "  she  answered  sharply,  "  No,  it  is  n't," 
and  turned  a  severe  look  upon  the  intruder. 

The  child  retreated  a  step,  and  then,  gaining  courage 
with  the  distance,  said,  in  deliciously  imperfect  speech,  — 

"  Dow  'way,  then  ;   why  don't  you  dow  away  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  eyeing  the  shawl.  Suddenly 
she  whipped  it  off  the  child's  shoulders  and  said  angrily,  — 

"How  dared  you  take  my  things,  you  bad  child  ?" 

"  Is  it  yours  ?  Then  you  are  my  mamma  !  ain't  you  ? 
You  are  mamma ! "  she  continued  gleefully,  and  before 
Mrs.  Tretherick  could  avoid  her  she  had  dropped  her  doll, 
and,  catching  the  woman's  skirts  with  both  hands,  was 
dancing  up  and  down  before  her. 

"What's  your  name,  child?"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick 
coldly,  removing  the  small  and  not  very  white  hands  from 
her  garments. 

"Tarry." 

"  Tarry  ?  " 

"Yeth.     Tarry.     Tarowline." 


IS  IT  MAMMA' 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  129 

"  Caroline  ?  " 

"  Yeth.     Tarowline  Tretherick." 

"Whose  child  are  you?"  demanded  Mrs.  Tretherick 
still  more  coldly,  to  keep  down  a  rising  fear. 

"  Why,  yours,"  said  the  little  creature  with  a  laugh. 
"  I  'm  your  little  durl.  You  're  my  mamma  —  my  new 
mamma  —  don't  you  know  my  ole  mamma's  dorn  away, 
never  to  turn  back  any  more.  I  don't  live  wid  my  ole 
mamma  now.  I  live  wid  you  and  papa." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Trether- 
ick snappishly. 

"I  think  it 's  free  days,"  said  Carry  reflectively. 

"  You  think  !  don't  you  know  ?  "  sneered  Mrs.  Trether- 
ick. "  Then  where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

Carry's  lip  began  to  work  under  this  sharp  cross-exami- 
nation. With  a  great  effort  and  a  small  gulp  she  got  the 
better  of  it,  and  answered,  — 

"  Papa  —  papa  fetched  me  —  from  Miss  Simmons  —  from 
Sacramento,  last  week." 

"  Last  week  !  you  said   three  days  just  now,"  returned 
Mrs.  Tretherick  with  severe  deliberation. 
.   "  I  mean  a  monf,"  said  Carry,  now  utterly  adrift  in  sheer 
helplessness  and  confusion. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about  ?  "  demanded 
Mrs.  T.  shrilly,  restraining  an  impulse  to  shake  the  little 
figure  before  her  and  precipitate  the  truth  by  specific 
gravity. 

But  the  flaming  red  head  here  suddenly  disappeared  in 
the  folds  of  Mrs.  Tretherick's  dress,  as  if  it  were  trying  to 
extinguish  itself  forever. 

"There  now,  stop  that  sniffling,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick, 
extricating  her  dress  from  the  moist  embraces  of  the  child, 
and  feeling  exceedingly  uncomfortable.  "  Wipe  your  face 
now  and  run  away  and  don't  bother.  Stop,"  she  contin' 
ued,  as  Carry  moved  away,  "  where  's  your  papa  ?  " 


130  AN    EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN 

"  He  's  dorn  away  too.  He  's  sick.  He  's  been  dorn  "  — 
she  hesitated  —  "  two  —  free  —  days." 

"Who  takes  care  of  you,  child?"  said  Mrs.  T.,  eyeing 
her  curiously. 

'  "  John,  the  Chinaman.     I  tresses  myselth ;  John  tooks 
and  makes  the  beds." 

"  Well,  now,  run  away  and  behave  yourself,  and  don't 
bother  me  any  more,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick,  remembering 
the  object  of  her  visit.  "  Stop,  where  are  you  going  ?  "  she 
added,  as  the  child  began  to  ascend  the  stairs,  dragging  the 
long  doll  after  her  by  one  helpless  leg. 

"Coin'  upstairs  to  play  and  be  dood,  and  not  bother 
mamma." 

"  I  ain't  your  mamma,"  shouted  Mrs.  Tretherick,  and 
then  she  swiftly  reiintered  her  bedroom  and  slammed  the  door. 

Once  inside,  she  drew  forth  a  large  trunk  from  the  closet, 
and  set  ta  work  with  querulous  and  fretful  haste  to  pack 
her  wardrobe.  She  tore  her  best  dress  in  taking  it  from 
the  hook  on  which  it  hung ;  she  scratched  her  soft  hands 
twice  with  an  ambushed  pin.  All  the  while  she  kept  up 
an  indignant  commentary  on  the  events  of  the  past  few 
moments.  She  said  to  herself  she  saw  it  all.  Tretherick 
had  sent  for  this  child  of  his  first  wife  —  this  child  for 
whose  existence  he  had  never  seemed  to  care — just  to 
insult  her  —  to  fill  her  place.  Doubtless  the  first  wife 
herself  would  follow  soon,  or  perhaps  there  would  be  a 
third.  Ked  hair  —  not  auburn,  but  red  —  of  course  the 
child  —  this  Caroline  —  looked  like  its  mother,  and  if  so 
she  was  anything  but  pretty.  Or  the  whole  thing  had 
been  prepared  —  this  red-haired  child  —  the  image  of  its 
mother  —  had  been  kept  at  a  convenient  distance  at  Sacra- 
mento, ready  to  be  sent  for  when  needed.  She  remembered 
his  occasional  visits  there  —  on  business,  as  he  said.  Per- 
haps the  mother  already  was  there  —  but  no  —  she  had 
gone  east.  Nevertheless  Mrs.  Tretherick.  in  her  then 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  131 

state  of  mind,  preferred  to  dwell  upon  the  fact  that  she 
might  be  there.  She  was  dimly  conscious  also  of  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  exaggerating  her  feelings.  Surely  no  woman 
had  ever  been  so  shamefully  abused.  In  fancy  she  sketched 
a  picture  of  herself  sitting  alone  and  deserted,  at  sunset, 
among  the  fallen  columns  of  a  ruined  temple,  in  a  melan- 
choly yet  graceful  attitude,  while  her  husband  drove  rapidly 
away  in  a  luxurious  coach  and  four,  with  a  red-haired 
woman  at  his  side.  Sitting  upon  the  trunk  she  had  just 
packed,  she  partly  composed  a  lugubrious  poem,  describing 
her  sufferings  as,  wandering  alone  and  poorly  clad,  she 
came  upon  her  husband  and  "another"  flaunting  in  silks 
and  diamonds.  She  pictured  herself  dying  of  consumption, 
brought  on  by  sorrow  —  a  beautiful  wreck,  yet  still  fasci- 
nating, gazed  upon  adoringly  by  the  editor  of  the  "  Ava- 
lanche "  and  Colonel  Starbottle.  And  where  was  Colonel 
Starbottle  all  this  while  ?  why  did  n't  he  come  ?  He  at 
least  understood  her.  He  —  she  laughed  the  reckless,  light 
laugh  of  a  few  moments  before,  and  then  her  face  suddenly 
grew  grave,  as  it  had  not  a  few  moments  before. 

What  was  that  little  red-haired  imp  doing  all  this  time  ? 
Why  was  she  so  quiet  ?  She  opened  the  door  noiselessly 
and  listened.  She  fancied  that  she  heard,  above  the  multi- 
tudinous small  noises  and  creakings  and  warpings  of  the 
vacant  house,  a  smaller  voice  singing  on  the  floor  above. 
This,  as  she  remembered,  was  only  an  open  attic  that  had 
been  used  as  a  store-room.  With  a  half-guilty  conscious- 
ness she  crept  softly  upstairs,  and,  pushing  the  door  partly 
open,  looked  within. 

Athwart  the  long,  low-studded  attic  a  slant  sunbeam 
from  a  single  small  window  lay,  filled  with  dancing  motes 
and  only  half  illuminating  the  barren,  dreary  apartment. 
In  the  ray  of  this  sunbeam  she  saw  the  child's  glowing  hair, 
as  if  crowned  by  a  red  aureole,  as  she  sat  upon  the  floor 
with  her  exaggerated  doll  between  her  knees.  She  appeared 


132  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

to  be  talking  to  it,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Mrs. 
Tretherick  observed  that  she  was  rehearsing  the  interview 
of  a  half-hour  before.  She  catechised  the  doll  severely, 
cross-examining  it  in  regard  to  the  duration  of  its  stay  there, 
and  generally  on  the  measure  of  time.  The  imitation  of 
Mrs.  T.'s  manner  was  exceedingly  successful,  and  the  con- 
versation almost  a  literal  reproduction,  with  a  single  excep- 
tion. After  she  had  informed  the  doll  that  she  was  not  her 
mother,  at  the  close  of  the  interview,  she  added  pathetically, 
"That  if  she  was  dood  —  very  dood  —  she  might  be  her 
mamma  and  love  her  very  much." 

I  have  already  hinted  that  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  deficient 
in  a  sense  of  humor.  Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason  that 
this  whole  scene  affected  her  most  unpleasantly,  and  the 
conclusion  sent  the  blood  tingling  to  her  cheek.  There 
was  something,  too,  inconceivably  lonely  in  the  situation  ; 
the  unfurnished  vacant  room,  half  light,  the  monstrous 
doll,  whose  very  size  seemed  to  give  a  pathetic  significance 
to  its  speechlessness,  the  smallness  'of  the  one  animate  self- 
centred  figure  —  all  these  touched  more  or  less  deeply  the 
half-poetic  sensibilities  of  the  woman.  She  could  not  help 
utilizing  the  impression  as  she  stood  there,  and  thought 
what  a  fine  poem  might  be  constructed  from  this  material, 
if  the  room  were  a  little  darker,  the  child  lonelier  —  say, 
sitting  beside  a  dead  mother's  bier  and  the  wind  wailing  in 
the  turrets.  And  then  she  suddenly  heard  footsteps  at  the 
door  below,  and  recognized  the  sound  of  the  Colonel's  cane. 

She  flew  swiftly  down  the  stairs  and  encountered  the 
Colonel  in  the  hall.  Here  she  poured  into  his  astonished 
ear  a  voluble  and  exaggerated  statement  of  her  discovery 
and  indignant  recital  of  her  wrongs.  "  Don't  tell  me  the 
whole  thing  was  n't  arranged  beforehand ;  for  I  know  it 
was !  "  she  almost  screamed.  "  And  think,"  she  added, 
"  of  the  heartlessness  of  the  wretch  —  leaving  his  own  child 
alone  here  in  that  way." 


AN    EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  133 

"  It 's  a  blank  shame  !  "  stammered  tlie  Colonel,  without 
the  least  idea  of  what  he  was  talking  about.  In  fact,  utterly 
unable  as  he  was  to  comprehend  a  reason  for  the  woman's 
excitement  with  his  estimate  of  her  character,  I  fear  he 
showed  it  more  plainly  than  he  intended.  He  stammered, 
expanded  his  chest,  looked  stern,  gallant,  tender,  but  all 
unintelligently.  Mrs.  Tretherick  for  an  instant  experienced 
a  sickening  doubt  of  the  existence  of  natures  in  perfect 
affinity. 

"It's  of  no  use,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick  with  sudden 
vehemence,  in  answer  to  some  inaudible  remark  of  the 
Colonel's,  and  withdrawing  her  hand  from  the  fervent  grasp 
of  that  ardent  and  sympathetic  man.  "  It 's  of  no  use  ;  my 
mind  is  made  up.  You  can  send  for  my  trunk  as  soon  as 
you  like,  but  /shall  stay  here  and  confront  that  man  with 
the  proof  of  his  vileness.  I  will  put  him  face  to  face  with 
his  infamy." 

I  do  not  know  whether  Colonel  Starbottle  thoroughly 
appreciated  the  convincing  proof  of  Tretherick's  unfaithful- 
ness and  malignity  afforded  by  the  damning  evidence  of  the 
existence  of  Tretherick's  own  child  in  his  own  house.  He 
was  dimly  aware,  however,  of  some  unforeseen  obstacle  to 
the  perfect  expression  of  the  infinite  longing  of  his  own  sen- 
timental nature.  But  before  he  could  say  anything,  Carry 
appeared  on  the  landing  above  them,  looking  timidly  and 
yet  half  critically  at  the  pair. 

"That's  her,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick  excitedly.  In  her 
deepest  emotions,  either  in  verse  or  prose,  she  rose  above 
a  consideration  of  grammatical  construction. 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  sudden  assumption  of 
parental  affection  and  jocularity  that  was  glaringly  unreal 
and  affected.  "  Ah !  pretty  little  girl,  pretty  little  girl ! 
how  do  you  do  ?  how  are  you  ?  you  find  yourself  pretty 
well,  do  you,  pretty  little  girl  ?  "  The  Colonel's  impulse 
also  was  to  expand  his  chest  and  swing  his  cane,  until  it 


134  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

occurred  to  him  that  this  action  might  be  ineffective  with 
a  child  of  six  or  seven.  Carry,  however,  took  no  immediate 
notice  of  this  advance,  but  further  discomposed  the  chival- 
rous Colonel  by  running  quickly  to  Mrs.  Tretherick,  and 
hiding  herself,  as  if  for  protection,  in  the  folds  of  her  gown. 
Nevertheless,  the  Colonel  was  not  vanquished.  Falling 
back  into  an  attitude  of  respectful  admiration,  he  pointed 
out  a  marvelous  resemblance  to  the  "  Madonna  arid  Child." 
Mrs.  Tretherick  simpered,  but  did  not  dislodge  Carry  as 
before.  There  was  an  awkward  pause  for  a  moment,  and 
then  Mrs.  Tretherick,  motioning  significantly  to  the  child, 
said  in  a  whisper,  "  Go,  now.  Don't  come  here  again, 
but  meet  me  to-night  at  the  hotel."  She  extended  her 
hand ;  the  Colonel  bent  over  it  gallantly,  and,  raising  his 
hat,  the  next  moment  was  gone. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick,  with  an  embar- 
rassed voice  and  a  prodigious  blush,  looking  down  and 
addressing  the  fiery  curls  just  visible  in  the  folds  of  her 
dress,  —  "  do  you  think  you  will  be  '  dood  '  if  I  let  you 
stay  in  here  and  sit  with  me  ?  " 

"  And  let  me  call  you  mamma  ?  "  queried  Carry,  looking 
up. 

"  And  let  you  call  me  mamma  ! "  assented  Mrs.  Treth- 
erick with  an  embarrassed  laugh. 

"  Yeth,"  said  Carry  promptly. 

They  entered  the  bedroom  together.  Carry's  eye  in- 
stantly caught  sight  of  the  trunk. 

"  Are  you  doin'  away  adain,  mamma  ? "  she  said  with 
a  quick,  nervous  look,  and  a  clutch  at  the  woman's  dress. 

"  No-o,"  said  Mrs.  Tretherick,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  Only  playing  you  're  doin'  away,"  suggested  Carry  with 
a  laugh.  "  Let  me  play  too." 

Mrs.  T.  assented.  Carry  flew  into  the  next  room, 
and  presently  reappeared,  dragging  a  small  trunk,  into 
which  she  gravely  proceeded  to  pack  her  clothes.  Mrs.  T. 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  135 

noticed  that  they  were  not  many.  A  question  or  two 
regarding  them  brought  out  some  further  replies  from  the 
child,  and  before  many  minutes  had  elapsed  Mrs.  Treth- 
erick  was  in  possession  of  all  her  earlier  history.  But 
to  do  this  Mrs.  Tretherick  had  been  obliged  to  take 
Carry  upon  her  lap,  pending  the  most  confidential  dis- 
closures. They  sat  thus  a  long  time  after  Mrs.  Tretherick 
had  apparently  ceased  to  be  interested  in  Carry's  dis- 
closures, and,  when  lost  in  thought,  she  allowed  the  child 
to  rattle  on  unheeded,  and  ran  her  fingers  through  the 
scarlet  curls. 

"  You  don't  hold  me  right,  mamma,"  said  Carry  at  last, 
after  one  or  two  uneasy  shiftings  of  position. 

"  How  should  I  hold  you  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Tretherick,  with 
a  half-amused,  half-embarrassed  laugh. 

"  This  way,"  said  Carry,  curling  up  into  position  with  one 
arm  around  Mrs.  Tretherick's  neck  and  her  cheek  resting 
on  her  bosom  ;  "  this  way  —  there  !  "  After  a  little  pre- 
paratory nestling,  not  unlike  some  small  animal,  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  went  to  sleep. 

For  a  few  moments  the  woman  sat  silent,  scarcely  daring 
to  breathe,  in  that  artificial  attitude.  And  then,  whether 
from  some  occult  sympathy  in  the  touch,  or  God  best  knows 
what,  a  sudden  fancy  began  to  thrill  her.  She  began  by 
remembering  an  old  pain  that  she  had  forgotten,  an  old 
horror  that  she  had  resolutely  put  away  all  these  years. 
She  recalled  days  of  sickness  and  distrust,  days  of  an  over- 
shadowing fear,  days  of  preparation  for  something  that  was 
to  be  prevented  —  that  was  prevented,  with  mortal  agony 
and  fear.  She  thought  of  a  life  that  might  have  been  — 
she  dared  not  say  had  been  —  and  wondered  !  It  was  six 
years  ago  ;  if  it  had  lived  it  would  have  been  as  old  as 
Carry.  The  arms  which  were  folded  loosely  around  the 
sleeping  child  began  to  tremble  and  tighten  their  clasp. 
And  then  the  deep  potential  impulse  came,  and  with  a  halt 


136  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

sob,  half-sigh,  she  threw  her  arms  out  and  drew  the  body 
of  the  sleeping  child  down,  down  into  her  breast,  —  clown 
again  and  again  as  if  she  would  hide  it  in  the  grave  dug 
there  years  before.  And  the  gust  that  shook  her  passed, 
and  then,  ah  me !  the  rain. 

A  drop  or  two  fell  upon  the  curls  of  Carry,  and  she 
moved  uneasily  in  her  sleep.  But  the  woman  soothed  her 
again,  —  it  was  so  easy  to  do  it  now,  —  and  they  sat  there 
quiet  and  undisturbed,  —  so  quiet  that  they  might  have 
seemed  incorporate  of  the  lonely  silent  house,  the  slowly 
declining  sunbeams,  and  the  general  air  of  desertion  and 
abandonment,  yet  a  desertion  that  had  in  it  nothing  of  age, 
decay,  or  despair. 

Colonel  Starbottle  waited  at  the  Fiddletown  Hotel  all 
that  night  in  vain.  And  the  next  morning  when  Mr. 
Tretherick  returned  to  his  husks,  he  found  the  house 
vacant  and  untenanted  except  by  motes  and  sunbeams. 

"When  it  was  fairly  known  that  Mrs.  Tretherick  had  run 
away,  taking  Mr.  Tretherick's  own  child  with  her,  there  was 
some  excitement  and  much  diversity  of  opinion  in  Fid- 
dletown.  The  "  Dutch  Flat  Intelligencer  "  openly  alluded 
to  the  "  forcible  abduction  "  of  the  child  with  the  same 
freedom  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  the  same  prejudice  with 
which  it  had  criticised  the  abductor's  poetry.  All  of  Mrs. 
Tretherick's  own  sex,  and  perhaps  a  few  of  the  opposite 
sex  whose  distinctive  quality  was  not,  however,  very  strongly 
indicated,  fully  coincided  in  the  views  of  the  "  Intelligencer." 
The  majority,  however,  evaded  the  moral  issue  ;  that  Mrs. 
Tretherick  had  shaken  the  red  dust  of  Fiddletown  from 
her  dainty  slippers  was  enough  for  them  to  know.  They 
mourned  the  loss  of  the  fair  abductor  more  than  hei 
offense.  They  promptly  rejected  Tretherick  as  an  injured 
husband  and  disconsolate  father,  and  even  went  so  far  as 
to  openly  cast  discredit  in  the  sincerity  of  his  grief.  They 


AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  137 

reserved  an  ironical  condolence  for  Colonel  Starbottle, 
overbearing  that  excellent  man  with  untimely  and  demon- 
strative sympathy  in  bar-rooms,  saloons,  and  other  localities 
not  generally  deemed  favorable  to  the  display  of  sentiment. 
"  She  was  alliz  a  skittish  thing,  Kernel,"  said  one  sympa- 
thizer, with  a  fine  affectation  of  gloomy  concern  and  great 
readiness  of  illustration,  "  and  it 's  kinder  nat'ril  thet  she  'd 
get  away  some  day  and  stampede  that  theer  colt ;  but  thet 
she  should  shake  you.  Kernel,  thet  she  should  just  shake 
you  —  is  what  gits  me.  And  they  do  say  thet  you  jist  hung 
around  thet  hotel  all  night,  and  paytrolled  them  corridors, 
and  histed  yourself  up  and  down  them  stairs,  and  meandered 
in  and  out  o'  thet  piazzy,  and  all  for  nothing  !  "  It  was  an- 
other generous  and  tenderly  commiserating  spirit  that  poured 
additional  oil  and  wine  on  the  Colonel's  wounds.  "  The 
boys  yer  let  on  thet  Mrs.  Tretherick  prevailed  on  ye  to 
pack  her  trunk  and  a  baby  over  from  the  house  to  the  stage 
offis,  and  that  the  chap  ez  did  go  off  with  her  thanked  you 
and  offered  you  two  short  bits,  and  sed  ez  how  he  liked  your 
looks  and  'ud  employ  you  agin  —  and  now  you  say  it  ain't 
so  ?  Weil  —  I  '11  tell  the  boys  it  ain't  so,  and  I  'm  glad  I 
met  you,  for  stories  do  get  round." 

Happily  for  Mrs.  Tretherick' s  reputation,  however,  the 
Chinaman  in  Tretherick's  employment,  who  was  the  only 
eye-witness  of  her  flight,  stated  that  she  was  unaccom- 
panied except  by  the  child.  He  further  deposed  that  obey- 
ing her  orders  he  had  stopped  the  Sacramento  coach  and 
secured  a  passage  for  herself  and  child  to  San  Francisco. 
It  was  true  that  Ah  Fe's  testimony  was  of  no  legal  value. 
But  nobody  doubted  it.  Even  those  who  were  sceptical  of 
the  Pagan's  ability  to  recognize  the  sacredness  of  the  truth 
admitted  his  passionless,  unprejudiced  unconcern.  But  it 
would  appear  from  an  hitherto  unrecorded  passage  of  this 
veracious  chronicle  that  herein  they  were  mistaken. 

It  was  about  six  months  after  the  disappearance  of  Mrs 


138  AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

Tretherick  that  Ah  Fe,  while  working  in  Tretherick's  lot, 
was  hailed  by  two  passing  Chinamen.  They  were  the 
ordinary  mining  coolies,  equipped  with  long  poles  and 
baskets  for  their  usual  pilgrimages.  An  animated  conver- 
sation at  once  ensued  between  Ah  Fe  and  his  brother 
Mongolians,  —  a  conversation  characterized  by  that  usual 
shrill  volubility  and  apparent  animosity  which  was  at  once 
the  delight  and  scorn  of  the  intelligent  Caucasian  who  did 
not  understand  a  word  of  it.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  feeling 
with  which  Mr.  Tretherick  on  his  veranda,  and  Colonel  Star- 
bottle,  who  was  passing,  regarded  their  heathenish  jargon. 
The  gallant  Colonel  simply  kicked  them  out  of  his  way  ; 
the  irate  Tretherick  with  an  oath  threw  a  stone  at  the  group 
and  dispersed  them  —  but  not  before  one  or  two  slips  of 
yellow  rice  paper  marked  with  hieroglyphics  were  exchanged, 
and  a  small  parcel  put  into  Ah  Fe's  hand.  When  Ah  Fe 
opened  this,  in  the  dim  solitude  of  his  kitchen,  he  found  a 
little  girl's  apron,  freshly  washed,  ironed,  and  folded.  On 
the  corner  of  the  hem  were  the  initials  "  C.  T."  Ah  Fe 
tucked  it  away  in  a  corner  of  his  blouse,  and  proceeded  to 
wash  his  dishes  in  the  sink  with  a  smile  of  guileless  satis- 
faction. 

Two  days  after  this  Ah  Fe  confronted  his  master.  "  Me 
no  likee  Fiddletown.  Me  belly  sick.  Me  go  now."  Mr. 
Tretherick  violently  suggested  a  profane  locality.  Ah  Fe 
gazed  at  him  placidly,  and  withdrew. 

Before  leaving  Fiddletown,  however,  he  accidentally  met 
Colonel  Starbottle  and  dropped  a  few  incoherent  phrases 
which  apparently  interested  that  gentleman.  When  he  con- 
cluded, the  Colonel  handed  him  a  letter  and  a  twenty-dollar 
gold-piece.  "If  you  bring  me  an  answer  I'll  double  that. 
Sabe,  John  ?  "  Ah  Fe  nodded.  An  interview  equally  acci- 
dental, with  precisely  the  same  result,  took  place  between  Ah 
Fe  and  another  gentleman,  whom  I  suspect  to  have  been  the 
youthful  editor  of  the  "Avalanche."  Yet  I  regret  to  state 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  139 

that  after  proceeding  some  distaHce  on  his  journey,  Ah  Fe 
calmly  broke  the  seals  of  both  letters,  and  after  trying  to 
read  them  upside  down  and  sideways,  finally  divided  them 
into  accurate  squares,  and  in  this  condition  disposed  of  them 
to  a  brother  Celestial  whom  he  met  on  the  road  for  a  tri- 
fling gratuity.  The  agony  of  Colonel  Starbottle  on  finding 
his  wash-bill  made  out  on  the  unwritten  side  of  one  of  these 
squares,  and  delivered  to  him  with  his  weekly  clean  clothes, 
and  the  subsequent  discovery  that  the  remaining  portions  of 
his  letter  were  circulated  by  the  same  method  from  the 
Chinese  laundry  of  one  Fung  Ti  of  Fiddletown,  has  been 
described  to  me  as  peculiarly  affecting.  Yet  I  am  satisfied 
that  a  higher  nature,  rising  above  the  levity  induced  by  the 
mere  contemplation  of  the  insignificant  details  of  this  breach 
of  trust,  would  find  ample  retributive  justice  in  the  difficul- 
ties that  subsequently  attended  Ah  Fe's  pilgrimage. 

On  the  road  to  Sacramento  he  was  twice  playfully  thrown 
from  the  top  of  the  stage-coach  by  an  intelligent  but  deeply 
intoxicated  Caucasian,  whose  moral  nature  was  shocked  at 
riding  with  one  addicted  to  opium  smoking.  At  Hangtown 
he  was  beaten  by  a  passing  stranger,  purely  an  act  of 
Christian  supererogation.  At  Dutch  Flat  he  was  robbed 
by  well-known  hands  from  unknown  motives.  At  Sacra- 
mento he  was  arrested  on  suspicion  of  being  something  or 
other,  and  discharged  with  a  severe  reprimand  —  possibly  for 
not  being  it,  and  so  delaying  the  course  of  justice.  At  San 
Francisco  he  was  freely  stoned  by  children  of  the  public 
schools;  but  by  carefully  avoiding  these  monuments  of  en- 
lightened progress,  he  at  last  reached  in  comparative  safety 
the  Chinese  quarters,  where  his  abuse  was  confined  to  the 
police  and  limited  by  the  strong  arm  of  the  law. 

The  next  day  he  entered  the  wash-house  of  Chy  Fook  as 
an  assistant,  and  on  the  following  Friday  was  sent  with  a 
basket  of  clean  clothes  to  Chy  Fook's  several  clients. 

It  was  the  usual  foggy  afternoon  as  he  climbed  the  long 


141  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

wind-swept  hill  of  California  Street,  one  of  those  bleak  grat 
intervals  that  made  the  summer  a  misnomer  to  any  but  the 
liveliest  San  Franciscan  fancy.  There  was  no  warmth  nor 
color  in  earth  or  sky  ;  no  light  nor  shade  within  or  without, 
only  one  monotonous,  universal  neutral  tint  over  everything. 
There  was  a  fierce  unrest  in  the  wind-whipped  streets,  there 
was  a  dreary  vacant  quiet  in  the  gray  houses.  When  Ah 
Fe  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  the  Mission  ridge  was  already 
hidden,  and  the  chill  sea-breeze  made  him  shiver.  As  he 
put  down  his  basket  to  rest  himself,  it  is  possible  that  to  his 
defective  intelligence  and  heathen  experience  this  "  God's 
own  climate,"  as  it  was  called,  seemed  to  possess  but  scant 
tenderness,  softness,  or  mercy.  But  it  is  possible  that  Ah 
Fe  illogically  confounded  this  season  with  his  old  persecu- 
tors, the  school-children,  who,  being  released  from  studious 
confinement,  at  this  hour  were  generally  most  aggressive. 
So  he  hastened  on,  and,  turning  a  corner,  at  last  stopped 
before  a  small  house. 

It  was  the  usual  San  Franciscan  urban  cottage.  There 
was  the  little  strip  of  cold  green  shrubbery  before  it,  the 
chilly  bare  veranda,  and  above  this  again  the  grim  balcony 
on  which  no  one  sat.  Ah  Fe  rang  the  bell ;  a  servant 
appeared,  glanced  at  his  basket,  and  reluctantly  admitted 
him  as  if  he  were  some  necessary  domestic  animal.  Ah 
Fe  silently  mounted  the  stairs,  and,  entering  the  open  door 
of  the  front  chamber,  put  down  the  basket  and  stood  pas- 
sively on  the  threshold. 

A  woman,  who  was  sitting  in  the  cold  gray  light  of  the 
window,  with  a  child  in  her  lap,  rose  listlessly  and  came 
toward  him.  Ah  Fe  instantly  recognized  Mrs.  Tretherick, 
but  not  a  muscle  of  his  immobile  face  changed,  nor  did 
his  slant  eyes  lighten  as  he  met  her  own  placidly.  She  evi- 
dently did  not  recognize  him  as  she  began  to  count  the 
clothes.  But  the  child,  curiously  examining  him,  suddenly 
uttered  a  short  glad  cry  :  — 


AN    EPISODE    OF    FIDDLETOWN  141 

"  Why,  it 's  John  !  Mamma,  it 's  our  old  John  what  we 
had  in  Fiddletown." 

For  an  instant  Ah  Fe's  eyes  and  teeth  electrically 
lightened.  The  child  clapped  her  hands  and  caught  at 
his  blouse.  Then  he  said  shortly,  "Me  John  —  Ah  Fe  — 
allee  same.  Me  know  you.  How  do  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tretherick  dropped  the  clothes  nervously  and  looked 
hard  at  Ah  Fe.  Wanting  the  quick-witted  instinct  of  affec- 
tion that  sharpened  Carry's  perception,  she  even  then  could 
not  distinguish  him  above  his  fellows.  W7ith  a  recollection 
of  past  pain  and  an  obscure  suspicion  of  impending  danger, 
she  asked  him  when  he  had  left  Fiddletown. 

"  Longee  time.  No  likee  Fiddletown,  no  likee  Tlevelick. 
Likee  San  Flisco.  Likee  washee.  Likee  Tally." 

Ah  Fe's  laconics  pleased  Mrs.  Tretherick.  She  did  not 
stop  to  consider  how  much  an  imperfect  knowledge  of 
English  added  to  his  curt  directness  and  sincerity.  But  she 
said,  "  Don't  tell  anybody  you  have  seen  me,"  and  took  out 
her  pocket-book. 

Ah  Fe,  without  looking  at  it,  saw  that  it  was  nearly 
empty.  Ah  Fe,  without  examining  the  apartment,  saw  that 
it  was  scantily  ftirnished.  •  Ah  Fe,  without  removing  his 
eyes  from  blank  vacancy,  saw  that  both  Mrs.  Tretherick 
and  Carry  were  poorly  dressed.  Yet  it  is  my  duty  to  state 
that  Ah  Fe's  long  fingers  closed  promptly  and  firmly  over 
the  half-dollar  which  Mrs.  Tretherick  extended  to  him. 

Then  he  began  to  fumble  in  his  blouse  with  a  series  of 
extraordinary  contortions.  After  a  few  moments  he  ex- 
tracted from  apparently  no  particular  place  a  child's  apron, 
which  he  laid  upon  the  basket  with  the  remark  — 

"  One  piece  washman  flagittee." 

Then  he  began  anew  his  fumblings  and  contortions. 
At  last  his  efforts  were  rewarded  by  his  producing,  appar- 
ently from  his  right  ear,  a  many-folded  piece  of  tissue- 
paper.  Unwrapping  this  carefully,  he  at  last  disclosed  two 


142  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

twenty-dollar  gold-pieces,  which  he  handed  to  Mrs.  Treth- 
erick. 

"  You  leavee  money  top  side  of  blulow,  Fiddletown,  me 
findee  money.  Me  fetchee  money  to  you.  All  lightee." 

"  But  I  left  no  money  on  the  top  of  the  bureau,  John," 
said  Mrs.  Tretherick  earnestly.  "  There  must  be  some  mis- 
take ;  it  belongs  to  some  other  person.  Take  it  back,  John." 

Ah  Fe's  brow  darkened.  He  drew  away  from  Mrs. 
Tretherick's  extended  hand  and  began  hastily  to  gather  up 
his  basket. 

"  Me  no  takee  back.  No,  no.  Bimeby  pleesman  he 
catchee  me  !  He  say,  '  God  damn  thief  —  catchee  flowty 
dollar  —  come  to  jailee.'  Me  no  takee  back.  You  leavee 
money  top  side  blulow.  Fiddletown.  Me  fetchee  money 
you.  Me  no  takee  back." 

Mrs.  Tretherick  hesitated.  In  the  confusion  of  her  flight 
she  might  have  left  the  money  in  the  manner  he  had  said. 
In  any  event  she  had  no  right  to  jeopardize  this  honest 
Chinaman's  safety  by  refusing  it.  So  she  said,  "  Very 
well,  John,  I  will  keep  it.  But  you  must  come  again  and 
see  me  "  —  here  Mrs.  T.  hesitated  with  a  new  and  sudden 
revelation  of  the  fact  that  any  man  could  wish  to  see  any 
other  than  herself  —  "  and,  and  —  Carry  !  " 

Ah  Fe's  face  lightened.  He  even  uttered  a  short  ven- 
triloquistic  laugh  without  moving  his  mouth.  Then  shoul- 
dering his  ba'sket  he  shut  the  door  carefully,  and  slid  quietly 
downstairs.  In  the  lower  hall  he,  however,  found  an  unex- 
pected difficulty  in  opening  the  front  door,  and  after  fum- 
bling vainly  at  the  lock  for  a  moment,  looked  around  for 
some  help  or  instruction.  But  the  Irish  handmaid  who 
had  let  him  in  was  contemptuously  oblivious  of  his  needs 
and  did  not  appear. 

There  occurred  a  mysterious  and  painful  incident  which 
I  shall  simply  record  without  attempting  to  explain.  On 
the  hall  table  a  scarf,  evidently  the  property  of  the  servant 


AN    EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  143 

before  alluded  to,  was  lying.  As  Ah  Fe  tried  the  lock  with 
one  hand,  the  other  rested  lightly  on  the  table.  Suddenly, 
and  apparently  of  its  own  volition,  the  scarf  began  to  creep 
slowly  towards  Ah  Fe's  hand.  From  Ah  Fe's  hand  it 
began  to  creep  up  his  sleeve,  slowly  and  with  an  insinuating, 
snake-like  motion,  and  then  disappeared  somewhere  in  the 
recesses  of  his  blouse.  Without  betraying  the  least  interest 
or  concern  in  this  phenomenon,  Ah  Fe  still  repeated  his 
experiments  upon  the  lock.  A  moment  later  the  tablecloth 
of  red  damask,  moved  by  apparently  the  same  mysterious 
impulse,  slowly  gathered  itself  under  Ah  Fe's  fingers,  and 
sinuously  disappeared  by  the  same  hidden  channel.  What 
further  mystery  might  have  followed  I  cannot  say,  for  at 
this  moment  Ah  Fe  discovered  the  secret  of  the  lock,  and 
was  enabled  to  open  the  door  coincident  with  the  sound  of 
footsteps  upon  the  kitchen  stairs.  Ah  Fe  did  not  hasten  his 
movements,  but,  patiently  shouldering  his  basket,  closed  the 
door  carefully  behind  him  again,  and  stepped  forth  into  the 
thick  encompassing  fog  that  now  shrouded  earth  and  sky. 

From  her  high  casement  window  Mrs.  Tretherick  watched 
Ah  Fe's  figure  until  it  disappeared  in  the  gray  cloud.  In 
her  present  loneliness  she  felt  a  keen  sense  of  gratitude 
towards  him,  and  may  have  ascribed  to  the  higher  emotions 
and  the  consciousness  of  a  good  deed  that  certain  expansive- 
ness  of  the  chest  and  swelling  of  the  bosom  that  was  really 
due  to  the  hidden  presence  of  the  scarf  and  tablecloth  under 
his  blouse  ;  forJVlrs.  Tretherick  was  still  poetically  sensitive. 
As  the  gray  fog  deepened  into  night  she  drew  Carry  closer 
towards  her,  and  above  the  prattle  of  the  child  pursued  a 
vein  of  sentimental  and  egotistic  recollection  at  once  bitter 
and  dangerous.  The  sudden  apparition  of  Ah  Fe  linked 
her  again  with  her  past  life  at  Fiddletown.  Over  the 
dreary  interval  between  she  was  now  wandering,  — a  journey 
so  piteous,  willful,  thorny,  and  \iseless  that  it  was  no 
wonder  that  at  last  Carry  stopped  suddenly  in  the  midst  of 


144  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

her  voluble  confidences  to  throw  her  small  arms  around  the 
woman's  neck  and  bid  her  not  to  cry. 

Heaven  forefend  that  I  should  use  a  pen  that  should  be 
ever  dedicated  to  an  exposition  of  unalterable  moral  principle 
to  transcribe  Mrs.  Tretherick's  own  theory  of  this  interval 
and  episode,  with  its  feeble  palliations,  its  illogical  deduc- 
tions, its  fond  excuses  and  weak  apologies.  It  would  seem, 
however,  that  her  experience  had  been  hard.  Her  slender 
stock  of  money  was  soon  exhausted.  At  Sacramento  she 
found  that  the,  composition  of  verse,  although  appealing  to 
the  highest  emotion  of  the  human  heart,  and  compelling 
the  editorial  breast  to  the  noblest  commendation  in  the 
editorial  pages,  was  singularly  inadequate  to  defray  the 
expenses  of  herself  and  Carry.  Then  she  tried  the  stage, 
but  failed  signally.  Possibly  her  conception  of  the  passions 
was  different  from  that  which  obtained  with  a  Sacramento 
audience,  but  it  was  certain  that  her  charming  presence,  so 
effective  at  short  range,  was  not  sufficiently  pronounced  for 
the  footlights.  She  had  admirers  enough  in  the  green- 
room, but  awakened  no  abiding  affection  among  the  audi- 
ence. In  this  strait  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  a  voice 
—  a  contralto  of  no  very  great  compass  or  cultivation,  but 
singularly  sweet  and  touching,  and  she  finally  obtained  a 
position  in  a  church  choir.  She  held  it  for  three  months, 
greatly  to  her  pecuniary  advantage,  and,  it  is  said,  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  gentlemen  in  the  back  pews  who 
faced  towards  her  during  the  singing  of  the  last  hymn. 

I  remember  her  quite  distinctly  at  this  time.  The  light 
that  slanted  through  the  oriel  of  St.  Dives's  choir  was  wont 
to  fall  tenderly  on  her  beautiful  head  with  its  stacked 
masses  of  deerskin-colored  hair,  on  the  low  black  arches 
of  her  brows,  and  to  deepen  the  pretty  fringes  that  shaded 
her  eyes  of  Genoa  velvet.  Very  pleasant  it  was  to  watch 
the  opening  and  shutting  of  that  small  straight  mouth,  with 
its  quick  revelation  of  the  little  white  teeth,  and  to  SPP  tl'R 


AN    EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  145 

foolish  blood  faintly  deepen  her  satin  cheek  as  you  watched  ; 
for  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  very  sweetly  conscious  of  admira- 
tion, and,  like  most  pretty  women,  gathered  herself  under 
your  eye  like  a  racer  under  the  spur.  . 

And  then,  of  course,  there  came  trouble.  I  have  it  from 
the  soprano  —  a  little  lady  who  possessed  even  more  than 
the  usual  unprejudiced  judgment  of  her  sex  —  that  Mrs. 
Tretherick's  conduct  was  simply  shameful  ;  that  her  conceit 
was  unbearable ;  that  if  she  considered  the  rest  of  the  choir 
as  slaves,  she,  the  soprano,  would  like  to  know  it ;  that  her 
conduct  on  Easter  Sunday  with  the  basso  had  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  whole  congregation,  and  that  she  herself 
had  noticed  Dr.  Cope  twice  look  up  during  the  service ; 
that  her  —  the  soprano's  —  friends  had  objected  to  her  sing- 
ing in  the  choir  with  a  person  Avho  had  been  on  the  stage, 
but  she  had  waived  this.  Yet  she  had  it  from  the  best 
authority  that  Mrs.  Tretherick  had  run  away  from  her 
husband,  and  that  this  red-haired  child  who  sometimes 
came  in  the  choir  was  not  her  own.  The  tenor  confided 
to  me,  behind  the  organ,  that  Mrs.  Tretherick  had  a  way 
of  sustaining  a  note  at  the  end  of  a  line,  in  order  that  her 
voice  might  linger  longer  with  the  congregation,  —  an  act 
that  could  be  attributed  only  to  a  defective  moral  nature  ; 
that  as  a  man,  —  he  was  a  very  popular  dry-goods  clerk  on 
week-days,  and  sang  a  good  deal  from  apparently  behind 
his  eyebrows  on  the  Sabbath,  —  that  as  a  man,  sir,  he  would 
put  up  with  it  no  longer.  The  basso  alone  —  a  short  Ger- 
man with  a  heavy  voice,  for  which  he  seemed  reluctantly 
responsible,  and  rather  grieved  at  its  possession  —  stood  up 
for  Mrs.  Tretherick  and  averred  that  they  were  jealous  of 
her  because  she  was  "  bretty."  The  climax  was  at  last 
reached  in  an  open  quarrel,  wherein  Mrs.  Tretherick  used 
her  tongue  with  such  precision  of  statement  and  epithet  that 
the  soprano  burst  into  hysterical  tears,  and  had  to  be  sup- 
ported from  the  choir  by  her  husband  and  the  tenor.  This 


146  AN   EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN 

act  was  marked  intentionally  to  the  congregation  by  the 
omission  of  the  usual  soprano  solo.  Mrs.  Tretherick  went 
home  flushed  with  triumph,  but  on  reaching  her  room  fran- 
tically told  Carry  that  they  were  beggars  henceforward  ;  that 

she her  mother  —  had  just  taken  the  very  bread  out  of 

her  darling's  mouth,  and  ended  by  bursting  into  a  flood  of 
penitent  tears.  They  did  not  come  so  quickly  as  in  her 
old  poetical  days,  but  when  they  came  they  stung  deeply. 
She  was  roused  by  a  formal  visit  from  a  vestryman,  —  one 
of  the  Music  Committee.  Mrs.  Tretherick  dried  her  long 
lashes,  put  on  a  new  neck  ribbon,  and  went  down  to  the 
parlor.  She  stayed  there  two  hours,  —  a  fact  that  might 
have  occasioned  some  remark  but  that  the  vestryman  was 
married  and  had  a  family  of  grown-up  daughters.  When 
Mrs.  Tretherick  returned  to  her  room,  she  sang  to  herself 
in  the  glass  and  scolded  Carry.  But  she  retained  her  place 
in  the  choir. 

It  was  not  long,  however.  In  due  course  of  time  her 
enemies  received  a  powerful  addition  to  their  forces  in  the 
committeeman's  wife.  That  lady  called  upon  several  of 
the  church  members  and  on  Dr.  Cope's  family.  The  result 
was  that  at  a  later  meeting  of  the  Music  Committee  Mrs. 
Tretherick's  voice  was  declared  inadequate  to  the  size  of 
the  building,  and  she  \yas  invited  to  resign.  She  did  so. 
She  had  been  out  of  a  situation  for  two  months,  and  her 
scant  means  were  almost  exhausted  when  Ah  Fe's  unex- 
pected treasure  was  tossed  into  her  lap. 

The  gray  fog  deepened  into  night,  and  the  street  lamps 
started  into  shivering  life,  as,  absorbed  in  these  unprofitable 
memories,  Mrs.  Tretherick  still  sat  drearily  at  her  window. 
Even  Carry  had  slipped  away  unnoticed,  and  her  abrupt 
entrance  with  the  damp  evening  paper  in  her  hand  roused 
Mrs.  Tretherick,  and  brought  her  back  to  an  active  realiza- 
tion of  the  present.  For  Mrs.  Tretherick  was  wont  to  scan 
the  advertisements,  in  the  faint  hope  of  finding  some  avenue 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  147 

of  employment  —  she  knew  not  what  —  open  to  her  needs, 
and  Carry  had  noted  this  habit. 

Mrs.  Tretherick  mechanically  closed  the  shutters,  lit  the 
lights,  and  opened  the  paper.  Her  eye  fell  instinctively  on 
the  following  paragraph  in  the  telegraphic  column  :  — 

"  Fiddletown,  7th.  Mr.  James  Tretherick,  an  old  resi- 
dent of  this  place,  died  last  night  of  delirium  tremens, 
Mr.  Tretherick  was  addicted  to  intemperate  habits,  said  to 
have  been  induced  by  domestic  trouble." 

Mrs.  Tretherick  did  not  start.  She  quietly  turned  over 
another  page  of  the  paper  and  glanced  at  Carry.  The  child 
was  absorbed  in  a  book.  Mrs.  Tretherick  uttered  no  word, 
but  during  the  remainder  of  the  evening  was  unusually  silent 
and  cold.  When  Carry  was  undressed  and  in  bed,  Mrs. 
Tretherick  suddenly  dropped  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed, 
and,  taking  Carry's  flaming  head  between  her  hands,  said,  — 

"  Should  you  like  to  have  another  papa,  Carry,  darling  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Carry,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  But  a  papa  to  help  mamma  take  care  of  you,  —  to  love 
you,  to  give  you  nice  clothes,  to  make  a  lady  of  you  when 
you  grow  up  ?  " 

Carry  turned  her  sleepy  eyes  toward  the  questioner. 
"  Should  you,  mamma  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tretherick  suddenly  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her 
hair.  "  Go  to  sleep,"  she  said  sharply,  and  turned  away. 

But  at  midnight  the  child  felt  two  white  arms  close 
tightly  around  her,  and  was  drawn  down  into  a  bosom  that 
heaved,  fluttered,  and  at  last  was  broken  up  by  sobs. 

"  Don't  ky,  mamma,"  whispered  Carry,  with  a  vague 
retrospect  of  their  recent  conversation.  "Don't  ky.  I 
fink  I  should  like  a  new  papa  if  he  loved  you  very  much  — 
Very,  very  much  !  " 

A  month  afterwards,  to  everybody's  astonishment,  Mrs, 
Tretherick  was  married.  The  happy  bridegroom  was  one 
Colonel  Starbottle,  recently  elected  to  represent  Calaveras 


148  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

County  in  the  legislative  councils  of  the  State.  As  I  cannot 
record  the  event  in  finer  language  than  that  used  by  the 
correspondent  of  the  "  Sacramento  Globe,"  I  venture  to 
quote  some  of  his  graceful  periods.  "  The  relentless  shafts 
of  the  sly  god  have  been  lately  busy  among  our  gallant 
Solons.  We  quote  'one  more  unfortunate.'  The  latest 
victim  is  the  Hon.  G.  Starbottie  of  Calaveras.  The  fair 
enchantress  in  the  case  is  a  beautiful  widow, — a  former 
votary  of  Thespis,  and  lately  a  fascinating  St.  Cecilia  of  one 
of  the  most  fashionable  churches  of  San  Francisco,  where 
she  commanded  a  high  salary." 

The  "Dutch  Flat  Intelligencer"  saw  fit,  however,  to 
comment  upon  the  fact  with  that  humorous  freedom  char- 
acteristic of  an  unfettered  press.  "The  new  democratic 
war-horse  from  Calaveras  has  lately  advented  in  the  Legis- 
lature with  a  little  bill  to  change  the  name  of  Tretherick  to 
Starbottie.  They  call  it  a  marriage  certificate  down  there. 
Mr.  Tretherick  has  been  dead  just  one  month,  but  we  pre- 
sume the  gallant  Colonel  is  not  afraid  of  ghosts." 

It  is  but  just  to  Mrs.  Tretherick  to  state  that  the  Colonel's 
victory  was  by  no  means  an  easy  one.  To  a  natural  degree 
of  coyness  on  the  part  of  the  lady  was  added  the  impediment 
of  a  rival,  —  a  prosperous  undertaker  from  Sacramento,  who 
had  first  seen  and  loved  Mrs.  Tretherick  at  the  theatre  and 
church;  his  professional  habits  debarring  him  from  ordi- 
nary social  intercourse,  and  indeed  any  other  than  the  most 
formal  public  contact  with  the  sex.  As  this  gentleman  had 
made  a  snug  fortune  during  the  felicitous  prevalence  of  a 
severe  epidemic,  the  Colonel  regarded  him  as  a  dangerous 
rival.  Fortunately,  however,  the  undertaker  was  called  in 
professionally  to  lay  out  a  brother  senator  who  had  un- 
happily fallen  by  the  Colonel's  pistol  in  an  affair  of  honor, 
and  either  deterred  by  physical  consideration  from  rivalry, 
or  wisely  concluding  that  the  Colonel  was  professionally 
Valuable,  he  withdrew  from  the  field. 


AN   EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  149 

The  honeymoon  was  brief,  and  brought  to  a  close  by  an 
untoward  incident.  During  their  bridal  trip  Carry  had  been 
placed  in  the  charge  of  Colonel  Starbottle's  sister.  On 
their  return  to  the  city,  immediately  on  reaching  their 
lodgings,  Mrs.  Starbottle  announced  her  intention  of  at 
once  proceeding  to  Mrs.  Culpepper's  to  bring  the  child 
home.  Colonel  Starbottle,  who  had  been  exhibiting  for 
some  time  a  certain  uneasiness  which  he  had  endeavored 
to  overcome  by  repeated  stimulation,  finally  buttoned  his 
coat  tightly  across  his  breast,  and,  after  walking  unsteadily 
once  or  twice  up  and  down  the  room,  suddenly  faced  his 
wife  with  his  most  imposing  manner. 

"I  have  deferred,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  an  exaggera- 
tion of  port  that  increased  with  his  inward  fear,  and  a 
growing  thickness  of  speech,  —  "  I  have  deferr— I  may  say 
poshponed  statement  o'  fack  thash  my  duty  ter  dishclose 
ter  ye.  I  did  no  wish  to  mar  su'shine  mushal  happ'ness 

—  to  bligh'   bud   o'  promise,   to  darken   conjuglar  sky  by 
unpleasht  revelashun.       Musht  be    done  —  by  G — d,  m'm, 
musht  do  it  now.      The  chile  is  gone !  " 

"  Gone  !  "   echoed  Mrs.  Starbottle. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice,  in  the 
sudden  drawing  together  of  the  pupils  of  her  eyes,  that  for 
a  moment  nearly  sobered  the  Colonel  and  partly  collapsed 
his  chest. 

"  I  '11  'splain  all  in  a  minit,"  he  said,  with  a  deprecating 
wave  of  the  hand  ;  "  everything  shall  be  'splained.  The- 
the-the-melencholly  event  wish  preshipitate  our  happ'ness 

—  the  myster'us  prov'nice  wish  releash  you  —  releash  chile  ! 
hunestan'  ?  — releash  chile.      The  mom't  Tretherick  die  — 
all  claim  you  have  in  chile  through  him  —  die  too.      Thash 
law.      Whose  chile  b'long  to  ?      Tretherick  ?      Tretherick 
dead.       Chile   can't   b'long   dead   man.       Damn  nonshense 
b'long  dead  man.    Ish  your  chile  ?    No !    Whos'  chile  then  ? 
Chile  b'long  to  'ts  mother.     Unnerstan'  ?  " 


150  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

"  Where  is  she  ? "  said  Mrs.  Starbottle,  with  a  verv 
white  face  and  a  very  low  voice. 

"  I  '11  'splain  all.  Chile  b'long  to  'ts  mother.  Thasb 
law.  I  'm  lawyer,  lesh'lator,  and  American  sis'n.  Ish  mj 
duty  as  lawyer,  as  lesh'lator,  and  'Merikan  sis'n  to  reshtore 
chile  to  suff'rin'  mother  at  any  coss — any  coss." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Starbottle,  witli  her 
eyes  still  fixed  on  the  Colonel's  face. 

"  Gone  to  'ts  m'o'r.  Gone  East  on  shteamer  yesserday. 
Waffed  by  fav'rin'  gales  to  suff'rin  p'rent.  Thash  so !  " 

Mrs.  Starbottle  did  not  move.  The  Colonel  felt  his 
chest  slowly  collapsing,  but  steadied  himself  against  a 
chair,  and  endeavored  to  beam  with  chivalrous  gallantry 
not  unmixed  with  magisterial  firmness  upon  her  as  she  sat. 

"  Your  feelin's,  m'm,  do  honor  to  yer  sex  ;  but  conshider 
situashun.  Conshider  m'or's  feelin's  —  conshider  my  feel- 
in's." The  Colonel  paused,  and  flourishing  a  white  hand- 
kerchief placed  it  negligently  in  his  breast,  and  then  smiled 
tenderly  above  it,  as  over  laces  and  ruffles,  on  the  woman 
before  him.  "Why  should  dark  shedder  cass  bligh'  on 
two  shouls  with  single  beat  ?  Chile  's  fine  chile,  good  chile, 
but  summonelse  chile  !  Chile  's  gone,  Clar'  ;  but  all  ish  n't 
gone,  Clar'.  Conshider,  dearesht,  you  all's  have  me  !  " 

Mrs.  Starbottle  started  to  her  feet.  "  You  !  "  she  cried, 
bringing  out  a  chest  note  that  made  the  chandeliers  ring. 
"  You,  that  I  married  to  give  my  darling  food  and  clothes. 
You!  a  dog  that  I  whistled  to  my  side  to  keep  the  men  off 
me  !  You  !  " 

She  choked  up,  and  then  dashed  past  him  into  the  inner 
room,  which  had  been  Carry's ;  then  she  swept  by  him 
again  into  her  own  bedroom,  and  then  suddenly  reappeared 
before  him  erect,  menacing,  with  a  burning  fire  over  her 
cheek-bones,  a  quick  straightening  of  her  arched  brows  and 
mouth,  a  squaiing  of  her  jaw,  and  an  ophidian  flattening  of 
tne  head. 


AN   EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  151 

"  Listen  !  "  she  said,  in  a  hoarse,  half -grown  boy's  voice. 
"  Hear  me  !  If  you  ever  expect  to  set  eyes  on  me  again 
you  must  find  the  child.  If  you  ever  expect  to  speak  to 
me  again  —  to  touch  me  —  you  must  bring  her  back.  For 
where  she  goes,  I  go  —  you  hear  me  !  —  where  she  has 
gone,  look  for  me  !  " 

She  struck  out  past  him  again,  with  a  quick  feminine 
throwing  out  of  her  arms  from  the  elbows  down,  as  if 
freeing  herself  from  some  imaginary  bonds,  and,  dashing 
into  her  chamber,  slammed  and  locked  the  door.  Colonel 
Starbottle,  although  no  coward,  stood  in  superstitious  fear 
of  an  angry  woman,  and  recoiling  as  she  swept  by,  lost  his 
unsteady  foothold  and  rolled  helplessly  on  the  sofa.  Here, 
after  one  or  two  unsuccessful  attempts  to  regain  his  foot- 
hold, he  remained,  uttering  from  time  to  time  profane  but 
not  entirely  coherent  or  intelligible  protests,  until  at  last  he 
succumbed  to  the  exhausting  quality  of  his  emotions,  and 
the  narcotic  quantity  of  his  potations. 

Meantime,  within,  Mrs.  Starbottle  was  excitedly  gather- 
ing her  valuables  and  packing  her  trunk,  even  as  she  had 
done  once  before  in  the  course  of  this  remarkable  history. 
Perhaps  some  recollection  of  this  was  in  her  mind,  for  she 
stopped  to  lean  her  burning  cheeks  upon  her  hand,  as  if 
she  saw  again  the  figure  of  the  child  standing  in  the  door- 
way, and  heard  once  more  a  childish  voice  asking,  "  Is  it 
mamma  ?  "  But  the  epithet  now  stung  her  to  the  quick, 
and  with  a  quick,  passionate  gesture,  she  dashed  it  away 
with  a  tear  that  had  gathered  in  her  eye.  And  then  it 
chanced  that  in  turning  over  some  clothes  she  came  upon 
the  child's  slipper  with  a  broken  sandal-string.  She  uttered 
a  great  cry  here,  —  the  first  she  had  uttered, — and  caught  it 
to  her  breast,  kissing  it  passionately  again  and  again,  and 
rocking  from  side  to  side  with  a  motion  peculiar  to  her  sex. 
And  then  she  took  it  to  the  window,  the  better  to  see  it 
through  her  now  streaming  eyes.  Here  she  was  taken  with 


152  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

a  sudden  fit  of  coughing  that  she  could  not  stifle  with  the 
handkerchief  she  put  to  her  feverish  lips.  And  then  she 
suddenly  grew  very  faint,  the  window  seemed  to  recede 
before  her,  the  floor  to  sink  beneath  her  feet,  and  staggering 
to  the  bed,  she  fell  prone  upon  it  with  the  sandal  and  hand- 
kerchief pressed  to  her  breast.  Her  face  was  quite  pale, 
the  orbit  of  her  eyes  dark,  and  there  was  a  spot  upon  her 
lip,  another  on  her  handkerchief,  and  still  another  on  the 
white  counterpane  of  the  bed. 

The  wind  had  risen,  rattling  the  window  sashes  and 
swaying  the  white  curtains  in  a  ghostly  way.  Later,  a  gray 
fog  stole  softly  over  the  roofs,  soothing  the  wind-roughened 
surfaces,  and  enwrapping  all  things  in  an  uncertain  light 
and  a  measureless  peace.  She  lay  there  very  quiet  —  for 
all  her  troubles,  still  a  very  pretty  bride.  And  on  the  other 
side  of  the  bolted  door  the  gallant  bridegroom,  from,  his 
temporary  couch,  snored  peacefully. 

A  week  before  Christmas  Day,  1870,  the  little  town  of 
Genoa,  in  the  State  of  New  York,  exhibited,  perhaps  more 
strongly  than  at  any  other  time,  the  bitter  irony  of  its  foun- 
ders and  sponsors.  A  driving  snowstorm,  that  had  whitened 
every  windward  hedge,  bush,  wall,  and  telegraph  pole, 
played  around  this  soft  Italian  capital,  whirled  in  and  out 
of  the  great,  staring,  wooden  Doric  columns  of  its  post-office 
and  hotel,  beat  upon  the  cold  green  shutters  of  its  best 
houses,  and  powdered  the  angular,  stiff,  dark  figures  in  its 
streets.  From  the  level  of  the  street  the  four  principal 
churches  of  the  town  stood  out  starkly,  even  while  their 
misshapen  spires  were  kindly  hidden  in  the  low  driving 
storm.  Near  the  railroad  station  the  new  Methodist  chapel, 
whose  resemblance  to  an  enormous  locomotive  was  further 
heightened  by  the  addition  of  a  pyramidal  row  of  front 
steps,  like  a  cowcatcher,  stood  as  if  waiting  for  a  few  more 
houses  to  be  hitched  on  to  proceed  to  a  pleasanter  location; 


AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  153 

But  the  pride  of  Genoa  —  the  great  Crammer  Institute  for 
Young  Ladies  —  stretched  its  bare  brick  length  and  reared 
its  cupola  plainly  from  the  bleak  Parnassian  hill  above  the 
principal  avenue.  There  was  no  evasion  in  the  Crammer 
Institute  of  the  fact  that  it  was  a  public  institution.  A 
visitor  upon  its  doorstep,  a  pretty  face  at  its  window,  were 
clearly  visible  all  over  the  township. 

The  shriek  of  the  engine  of  the  four  o'clock  Northern 
Express  brought  but  few  of  the  usual  loungers  to  the  depot. 
Only  a  single  passenger  alighted  and  was  driven  away  in  the 
solitary  waiting  sleigh  towards  the  Genoa  Hotel.  And  then 
the  train  sped  away  again,  —  with  that  passionate  indifference 
to  human  sympathies  or  curiosity  peculiar  to  express  trains, — 
the  one  baggage  truck  was  wheeled  into  the  station  again,  the 
station  door  was  locked,  and  the  station  master  went  home. 

The  locomotive  whistle,  however,  awakened  the  guilty 
consciousness  of  three  young  ladies  of  the  Crammer  Institute, 
who  were  even  then  surreptitiously  regaling  themselves  in 
the  bake-shop  and  confectionery  saloon  of  Mrs.  Phillips,  in  a 
by-lane.  For  even  the  admirable  regulations  of  the  Institute 
failed  to  entirely  develop  the  physical  and  moral  natures  of 
its  pupils :  they  conformed  to  the  excellent  dietary  rules  in 
public,  and  in  private  drew  upon  the  'luxurious  rations  of 
their  village  caterer  ;  they  attended  church  with  exemplary 
formality,  and  flirted  informally  during  service  with  the  vil- 
lage beaux;  they  received  the  best  and  most  judicious 
instruction  during  school  hours,  and  devoured  the  trashiest 
novels  during  recess.  The  result  of  which  was  an  aggrega- 
tion of  quite  healthy,  quite  human,  and  very  charming 
young  creatures,  that  reflected  infinite  credit  on  the  Insti- 
tute. .  Even  IVIrs.  Phillips,  to  whom  they  owed  vast  sums, 
exhilarated  by  the  exuberant  spirits  and  youthful  freshness 
of  her  guests,  declared  that  the  sight  of  "  them  young 
things  "  did  her  good,  and  had  even  been  known  to  shield 
them  by  shameless  equivocation. 


154  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

"  Four  o'clock,  girls  !  and  if  we  're  not  back  to  prayers  by 
five  we  '11  be  missed,"  said  the  tallest  of  these  foolish  virgins, 
with,  an  aquiline  nose  and  certain  quiet  elan  that  bespoke 
the  leader,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat.  "  Have  you  got  the 
books,  Addy  ?  "  A.ddy  displayed  three  dissipated-looking 
novels  under  her  waterproof.  "  And  the  provisions,  Carry  ?  " 
Carry  showed  a  suspicious  parcel  filling  the  pocket  of  her 
sack.  "  All  right,  then.  Come,  girls,  trudge.  Charge  it," 
she  added,  nodding  to  her  host,  as  they  passed  towards  the 
door.  "  I  '11  pay  you  when  my  quarter's  allowance  comes." 

"  No,  Kate,"  interposed  Carry,  producing  her  purse  ; 
"  let  me  pay  —  it 's  my  turn." 

"  Never  !  "  said  Kate,  arching  her  black  broAvs  loftily ; 
"  even  if  you  do  have  rich  relatives  and  regular  remittances 
from  California.  Never.  Come,  girls  —  forward,  march  !  " 

As  they  opened  the  door  a  gust  of  wind  nearly  took  them 
off  their  feet.  Kindhearted  Mrs.  Phillips  was  alarmed. 
"  Sakes  alive !  gals,  ye  must  n't  go  out  in  sich  weather  ; 
better  let  me  send  word  to  the  Institoot  and  make  ye  up  a 
nice  bed  to-night  in  my  parlor."  But  the  last  sentence  was 
lost  in  a  chorus  of  half-suppressed  shrieks  as  the  girls,  hand 
in  hand,  ran  down  the  steps  into  the  storm,  and  were  at 
once  whirled  away.  * 

The  short  December  day,  unlit  by  any  sunset  glow,  was 
failing  fast.  It  was  quite  dark  already,  and  the  air  was 
thick  with  driving  snow.  For  some  distance  their  high 
spirits,  youth,  and  even  inexperience  kept  them  bravely  up, 
but  in  ambitiously  attempting  "a  short  cut  from  the  high- 
road across  an  open  field  their  strength  gave  out,  the  laugh 
grew  less  frequent,  and  tears  began  to  stand  in  Carry's 
brown  eyes.  When  they  reached  the  road  again  they  were 
utterly  exhausted.  "  Let  us  go  back,"  said  Carry. 

"  We  'd  never  get  across  that  field  again,"  said  Addy. 

"  Let 's  stop  at  the  first  house,  then,"  said  Carry. 
.   ""The    first   house,"    said    Addy,    peering    through   the 


AN   EPISODE    OF  FIDDLETOWN  155 

gathering  darkness,  "  is  Squire  Robinson's."  She  darted  a 
mischievous  glance  at  Carry  that  even  in  her  discomfort 
and  fear  brought  the  quick  blood  to  her  cheek. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Kate  with  gloomy  irony,  "  certainly,  stop 
at  the  Squire's,  by  all  means,  and  be  invited  to  tea,  and  be 
driven  home  after  tea  by  your  dear  friend  Mr.  Harry,  with 
a  formal  apology  from  Mrs.  Robinson,  and  hopes  that  the 
young  ladies  may  be  excused  this  time.  No,"  continued 
Kate  with  sudden  energy,  "  that  may  suit  you  ;  but  I  'm 
going  back  as  I  came,  —  by  the  window,  —  or  not  at  all." 
Then  she  pounced  suddenly,  like  a  hawk,  on  Carry,  who 
was  betraying  a  tendency  to  sit  down  on  a  snowbank  and 
whimper,  arid  shook  her  briskly.  "  You  '11  be  going  to  sleep 
next.  Stay  —  hold  your  tongues,  all  of  you  —  what 's 
that  ?  " 

It  was  the  sound  of  sleigh-bells.  Coming  down  toward 
them  out  of  the  darkness  was  a  sleigh  with  a  single 
occupant.  "  Hold  down  your  heads,  girls,  if  it 's  anybody 
that  knows  us  —  we  're  lost."  But  it  was  not,  for  a  voice 
strange  to  their  ears,  but  withal  very  kindly  and  pleasant, 
asked  if  its  owner  could  be  of  any  help  to  them.  As  they 
turned  toward  him  they  saw  it  was  a  man  wrapped  in  a 
handsome  sealskin  cloak,  wearing  a  sealskin  cap,  his  face, 
half  concealed  by  a  muffler  of  the  same  material,  disclosing 
only  a  pair  of  long  mustaches  and  two  keen  dark  eyes. 
"  It 's  a  son  of  old  Santa  Claus,"  whispered  Addy.  The 
girls  tittered  audibly  as  they  tumbled  into  the  sleigh  —  they 
had  regained  their  former  spirits.  "  Where  shall  I  take 
you  ? "  said  the  stranger  quietly.  There  was  a  hurried 
whispering,  and  then  Kate  said  boldly,  "  To  the  Institute." 
They  drove  silently  up  the  hill  until  the  long  ascetic  build- 
ing loomed  up  before  them.  The  stranger  reined  up 
suddenly.  "  You  know  the  way  better  than  I,"  he  said  ; 
"  where  do  you  go  in  ?  "  "  Through  the  back  window," 
said  Kate  with  sudden  and  appalling  frankness.  "  I  see  '  y> 


156  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

responded  their  strange  driver  quietly,  and  alighting  quickly 
removed  the  bells  from  the  horses.  "We  can  drive  as 
near  as  you  please  now,"  he  added  by  way  of  explanation. 
"  He  certainly  is  a  son  of  Santa  Glaus,"  whispered  Addy  ; 
"  had  n't  we  better  ask  after  his  father  ?  "  "  Hush,"  said 
Kate  decidedly.  "  He  is  an  angel,  I  dare  say."  She  added 
with  a  delicious  irrelevance,  which  was,  however,  perfectly 
understood  by  her  feminine  auditors,  "  We  are  looking 
like  three  frights." 

Cautiously  skirting  the  fences,  they  at  last  pulled  up 
a  few  feet  from  a  dark  Avail.  The  stranger  proceeded  to 
assist  them  to  alight.  There  was  still  some  light  from  the 
reflected  snow,  and  as  he  handed  his  fair  companions  to  the 
ground  each  was  conscious  of  undergoing  an  intense  though 
respectful  scrutiny.  He  assisted  them  gravely  to  open  the 
window,  and  then  discreetly  retired  to  the  sleigh  until  the 
difficult  and  somewhat  discomposing  ingress  was  made. 
He  then  walked  to  the  window.  "  Thank  you  and  good- 
night," whispered  three  voices.  A  single  figure  still  lin- 
gered. The  stranger  leaned  over  the  window-sill.  "  Will 
you  permit  me  to  light  my  cigar  here  ?  it  might  attract 
attention  if  I  struck  a  match  outside."  By  the  upspringing 
light  he  saw  the  figure  of  Kate  very  charmingly  framed  in 
by  the  window.  The  match  burned  slowly  out  in  his 
fingers.  Kate  smiled  mischievously.  The  astute  young 
woman  had  detected  the  pitiable  subterfuge.  For  what  else 
did  she  stand  at  the  head  of  her  class,  and  for  what  else 
had  doting  parents  paid  three  years'  tuition  ? 

The  storm  had  passed,  and  the  sun  was  shining  quite 
cheerily  in  the  eastern  recitation-room  the  next  morning, 
when  Miss  Kate,  whose  seat  was  nearest  the  window, 
placing  her  hand  pathetically  upon  her  heart,  affected  to 
fall  in  bashful  and  extreme  agitation  upon  the  shoulder  of 
Carry,  her  neighbor.  "  He  has  come  ! "  she  gasped  in  a 
thrilling  whisper.  "  Who  ?  "  asked  Carry  sympathetically, 


AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  157 

who  never  clearly  understood  when  Kate  was  in  earnest. 
"Who  ?  —  why,  the  man  who  rescued  us  last  night !  I  saw 
him  drive  to  the  door  this  moment.  Don't  speak  —  I  shall 
be  better  in  a  moment ;  there  ! "  she  said,  and  the  shameless 
hypocrite  passed  her  hand  pathetically  across  her  forehead 
with  a  tragic  air. 

"  What  can  he  want  ?  "  asked  Carry,  whose  curiosity  was 
excited. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Kate,  suddenly  relapsing  into 
gloomy  cynicism.  "  Possibly  to  put  his  five  daughters  to 
school.  Perhaps  to  finish  his  young  wife  and  warn  her 
against  us." 

"  He  did  n't  look  old,  and  he  did  n't  seem  like  a  married 
man,"  rejoined  Addy  thoughtfully. 

"  That  was  his  art,  you  poor  creature  !  "  returned  Kate 
scornfully ;  "  you  can  never  tell  anything  of  these  men  — 
they  are  so  deceitful.  Besides,  it 's  just  my  fate  !  " 

''Why,  Kate  "  — began  Carry,  in  serious  concern. 

"  Hush,  Miss  Walker  is  saying  something,"  said  Kate, 
laughing. 

"  The  young  ladies  will  please  give  attention,"  said  a 
slow  perfunctory  voice.  "  Miss  Carry  Tretherick  is  wanted 
in  the  parlor." 

Meantime  Mr.  Jack  Prince,  the  name  given  on  the  card 
and  various  letters  and  credentials  submitted  to  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Crammer,  paced  the  somewhat  severe  apartment  known 
publicly  as  the  "  Reception  Parlor,"  and  privately  to  the 
pupils  as  "  Purgatory."  His  keen  eyes  had  taken  in  the 
various  rigid  details,  from  the  flat  steam  "  radiator "  like 
an  enormous  japanned  soda-cracker,  that  heated  one  end  of 
the  room,  to  the  monumental  bust  of  Dr.  Crammer  that 
hopelessly  chilled  the  other ;  from  the  Lord's  Prayer 
executed  by  a  former  writing-master  in  such  gratuitous 
variety  of  elegant  caligraphic  trifling  as  to  considerably 
abate  the  serious  value  of  the  composition,  to  three  views 


158  AN  EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN 

of  Genoa  from  the  Institute,  which  nobody  ever  recognized, 
taken  on  the  spot  by  the  drawing  teacher ;  from  two  illu- 
minated texts  of  Scripture  in  an  English  letter,  so  gratui- 
tously and  hideously  remote  as  to  chill  all  human  interest, 
.to  a  large  photograph  of  the  senior  class,  in  which  the 
prettiest  girls  were  Ethiopian  in  complexion,  and  sat  (appar- 
ently) on  each  other's  heads  and  shoulders ;  —  his  fingers 
had  turned  listlessly  the  leaves  of  school  catalogues,  the 
Sermons  of  Dr.  Crammer,  the  Poems  of  Henry  Kirke 
White,  the  "  Lays  of  the  Sanctuary,"  and  "  Lives  of  Cele- 
brated Women  ;  "  —  his  fancy,  and  it  was  a  nervously  active 
one,  had  gone  over  the  partings  and  greetings  that  must 
have  taken  place  here,  and  wondered  why  the  apartment 
had  yet  caught  so  little  of  the  flavor  of  humanity ;  — 
indeed,  I  am  afraid  he  had  almost  forgotten  the  object  of 
his  visit  when  the  door  opened  and  Carry  Tretherick  stood 
before  him. 

It  was  one  of  those  faces  he  had  seen  the  night  before,  — 
prettier  even  than  it  had  seemed  then, — and  yet  I  think 
he  was  conscious  of  some  disappointment,  without  knowing 
exactly  why.  Her  abundant  waving  hair  was  of  a  guinea- 
golden  tint,  her  complexion  of  a  peculiar  flower-like  deli- 
cacy, her  brown  eyes  of  the  color  of  seaweed  in  deep  water. 
It  certainly  was  not  her  beauty  that  disappointed  him. 

Without  possessing  his  sensitiveness  to  impression,  Carry 
was,  on  her  part,  quite  as  vaguely  ill  at  ease.  She  saw 
before  her  one  of  those  men  whom  the  sex  would  vaguely 
generalize  as  "  nice,"  -r-  that  is  to  say,  correct  in  all  the 
superficial  appointments  of  style,  dress,  manners,  and  fea- 
ture ;  yet  there  was  a  decidedly  unconventional  quality 
about  him  —  he  was  totally  unlike  anything  or  anybody 
that  she  could  remember,  and,  as  the  attributes  of  origi- 
nality are  often  as  apt  ,to  alarm  as  to  attract  people,  she 
was  not  entirely  prepossessed  in  his  favor. 

"  I  can  hardly  hope,"  he  began  pleasantly.   "  that  you 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  159 

remember  me.  It  is  eleven  years  ago,  and  you  were  a  very 
little  girl.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  even  claim  to  have  enjoyed 
that  familiarity  that  might  exist  between  a  child  of  six  and 
a  young  man  of  twenty-one.  I  don't  think  I  was  fond  of 
children.  But  I  knew  your  mother  very  well.  I  was 
editor  of  the  '  Avalanche '  in  Fiddletown  when  she  took 
you  to  San  Francisco." 

"  You  mean  my  stepmother ;  she  was  n't  my  mother,  you 
know,"  interposed  Carry  hastily. 

Mr.  Prince  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  I  mean  your  step- 
mother," he  said  gravely.  "  I  never  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  your  mother." 

"No,  mother  hasn't  been  in  California  these  twelve 
years." 

There  was  an  intentional  emphasizing  of  the  title  and  of 
its  distinction,  that  began  to  coldly  interest  Prince  after  his 
first  astonishment  was  past. 

"  As  I  come  from  your  stepmother  now,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  slight  laugh,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  go  back  for  a  few 
moments  to  that  point.  After  your  father's  death,  your 
mother  —  I  mean  your  stepmother  —  recognized  the  fact 
that  your  mother,  the  first  Mrs.  Tretherick,  was  legally  and 
morally  your  guardian,  and,  although  much  against  her 
inclination  and  affections,  placed  you  again  in  her  charge." 

"  My  stepmother  married  again  within  a  month  after 
father  died,  and  sent  me  home,"  said  Carry  with  great 
directness,  and  the  faintest  toss  of  her  head. 
.  Mr.  Prince  smiled  so  sweetly,  and  apparently  so  sym- 
pathetically, that  Carry  began  to  like  him.  With  no  other 
notice  of  the  interruption  he  went  on  :  "  After  your  step- 
mother had  performed  this  act  of  simple  justice,  she  entered 
into  an  agreement  with  your  mother  to  defray  the  expenses 
of  your  education  until  your  eighteenth  year,  when  you 
were  to  elect  and  choose  which  of  the  two  should  thereafter 
be  your  guardian,  and  with  whom  you  would  make  your 


160  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

home.     This  agreement,  I  think,  you  are  already  aware  of, 
and  I  'believe  knew  at  the  time." 

"  I  was  a  mere  child  then,"  said  Carry. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Prince  with  the  same  smile  ;  "  still 
the  conditions,  I  think,  have  never  been  oppressive  to  you 
nor  your  mother,  and  the  only  time  they  are  likely  to  give 
you  the  least  uneasiness  will  be  when  you  come  to  make  up 
your  mind  in  the  choice  of  your  guardian.  That  will  be  on 
your  eighteenth  birthday,  —  the  20th,  I  think,  of  the  present 
month." 

Carry  was  silent. 

"  Pray  do  not  think  that  I  am  here  to  receive  your 
decision,  even  if  it  be  already  made.  I  only  came  to 
inform  you  that  your  stepmother,  Mrs.  Starbottle,  will  be  in 
town  to-morrow,  and  will  pass  a  few  days  at  the  hotel.  If 
it  is  your  wish  to  see  her  before  you  make  up  your  mind,  she 
will  be  glad  to  meet  you.  She  does  not,  however,  wish  to 
do  anything  to  influence  your  judgment." 

"  Does  mother  know  she  is  coming  ?  "  said  Carry  hastily. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Prince  gravely.  "  I  only  know 
that  if  you  conclude  to  see  Mrs.  Starbottle,  it  will  be  with 
your  mother's  permission.  Mrs.  Starbottle  will  keep  sa- 
credly this  part  of  the  agreement,  made  ten  years  ago.  But 
her  health  is  very  poor,  and  the  change  and  country  quiet  of 
a  few  days  -may  benefit  her."  Mr.  Prince  bent  his  keen, 
bright  eyes  upon  the  young  girl,  and  almost  held  his  breath 
until  she  spoke  again. 

"  Mother  's  coming  up  to-day  or  to-morrow,"  she  said,. 
looking  up. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mr.  Prince,  with  a  sweet  and  languid  smile. 

"  Is  Colonel  Starbottle  here  too  ?  "  asked  Carry  after  a 
pause. 

"  Colonel  Starbottle  is  dead ;  your  stepmother  is  again  a 
widow." 

"  Dead  !  "  repeated  Carry. 


AN    EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  161 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Prince,  "  your  stepmother  has  been 
singularly  unfortunate  in  surviving  her  affections." 

Carry  did  not  know  what  he  meant,  and  looked  so.  Mr. 
Prince  smiled  reassuringly. 

Presently  Carry  began  to  whimper. 

Mr.  Prince  softly  stepped  beside  her  chair. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  with  a  very  peculiar  light  in  his 
eye,  and  a  singular  dropping  of  the  corners  of  his  mustache, 
—  "I  am  afraid  you  are  taking  this  too  deeply.  It  will  be 
some  days  before  you  are  called  upon  to  make  a  decision, 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  I  hope  you  caught  no  cold 
last  evening." 

Carry's  face  shone  out  again  in  dimples. 

"  You  must  have  thought  us  so  queer  !  It  was  too  bad 
to  give  you  so  much  trouble." 

"  None  whatever,  I  assure  you.  My  sense  of  propriety," 
he  added  demurely,  "which  might  have  been  outraged  had 
I  been  called  upon  to  help  three  young  ladies  out  of  a 
schoolroom  window  at  night,  was  deeply  gratified  at  being 
able  to  assist  them  in  again."  The  door-bell  rang  loudly, 
and  Mr.  Prince  rose.  "  Take  your  own  time,  and  think 
well  before  you  make  your  decision."  But  Carry's  ear  and 
attention  were  given  to  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  hall.  At 
the  same  moment  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  a  servant 
announced,  "Mrs.  Tretherick  and  Mr.  Robinson." 

The  afternoon  train  had  just  shrieked  out  its  usual 
indignant  protest  at  stopping  at  Genoa  at  all,  as  Mr.  Jack 
Prince  entered  the  outskirts  of  the  town  and  drove  towards 
his  hotel.  He  was  wearied  and  cynical ;  a  drive  of  a  dozen 
miles  through  unpicturesque  outlying  villages,  past  small 
economic  farmhouses  and  hideous  villas  that  violated  his 
fastidious  taste,  had,  I  fear,  left  that  gentleman  in  a  captious 
state  of  mind.  He  would  have  even  avoided  his  taciturn 
landlord  as  he  drove  up  to  the  door,  but  that  functionary 
waylaid  him  on  the  steps.  "  There  's  a  lady  in  the  sittin'- 


162  AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

room  waitin'  for  ye."  Mr.  Prince  hurried  upstairs  and 
entered  the  room  as  Mrs.  Starbottle  ^ew  towards  him. 

She  had  changed  sadly  in  the  last  ten  years.  Her  figure 
was  wasted  to  half  its  size ;  the  beautiful  curves  of  her  bust 
and  shoulders  were  broken  or  inverted ;  the  once  full, 
rounded  arm  was  shrunken  in  its  sleeve,  and  the  golden 
hoops  that  encircled  her  wan  wrists  almost  slipped  from 
her  hands  as  her  long,  scant  fingers  closed  convulsively 
around  Jack's.  Her  cheek-bones  were  painted  that  after- 
noon with  the  hectic  of  fever ;  somewhere  in  the  hollows  of 
those  cheeks  were  buried  the  dimples  of  long  ago,  but  their 
graves  were  forgotten  ;  her  lustrous  eyes  were  still  beautiful, 
though  the  orbits  were  deeper  than  before ;  her  mouth  was 
still  sweet,  although  the  lips  parted  more  easily  over  the 
little  teeth,  and  even  in  breathing,  and  showed  more  of 
them  than  she  was  wont  to  do  before.  The  glory  of  her 
blonde  hair  was  still  left ;  it  was  finer,  more  silken  and 
ethereal,  yet  it  failed  even  in  its  plenitude  to  cover  the  hol- 
lows of  the  blue-veined  temples. 

"  Clara,"  said  Jack  reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  Jack,"  she  said,  falling  into  a  chair,  but 
still  clinging  to  his  hand,  —  "  forgive  me,  dear,  but  I  could 
not  wait  longer.  I  should  have  died,  Jack,  died  before  an- 
other night.  Bear  with  me  a  little  longer,  —  it  will  not  be 
long,  —  but  let  me  stay.  I  may  not  see  her,  I  know  —  I 
shall  not  speak  to  her  —  but  it's  so  sweet  to  feel  that  I  am 
at  last  near  her  —  that  I  breathe  the  same  air  with  my 
darling  —  I  am  better  already,  Jack,  I  am  indeed.  And 
you  have  seen  her  to-day  ?  How  did  she  look  ?  what  did 
she  say  ?  — tell  me  all  —  everything,  Jack.  Was  she  beau- 
tiful ?  they  say  she  is  !  Has  she  grown  ?  Would  you  have 
known  her  again  ?  Will  she  come,  Jack  ?  Perhaps  she  has 
been  here  already  —  perhaps" — she  had  risen  with  tremu- 
lous excitement,  and  was  glancing  at  the  door,  — "  perhaps 
ehe  is  here  now.  Why  don't  you  speak,  Jack  ?  tell  me  all." 


AN    EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  163 

The  keen  eyes  that  looked  down  into  hers  were  glisten- 
ing with  an  infinite  tenderness  that  none  perhaps  but  she 
would  have  deemed  them  capable  of.  "  Clara,"  he  said 
gently  and  cheerily,  "  try  and  compose  yourself.  You  are 
trembling  now  with  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of  your 
journey.  I  have  seen  Carry  —  she  is  well  and  beautiful! 
Let  that  suffice  you  now." 

His  gentle  firmness  composed  and  calmed  her  now  as  it 
had  often  done  before.  Stroking  her  thin  hand,  he  said 
after  a  pause,  "  Did  Carry  ever  write  to  you  ?  " 

"Twice — thanking  me  for  some  presents;  they  were 
only  schoolgirl  letters,"  she  added,  nervously  answering  the 
interrogation  of  his  eyes. 

"  Did  she  ever  know  of  your  own  troubles  ?  of  your  pov- 
erty ?  of  the  sacrifices  you  made  to  pay  her  bills  ?  of  your 
pawning  your  clothes  and  jewels  ?  of  your  "  — 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  the  woman  quickl}r,  "  no  !  How 
could  she  ?  I  have  no  enemy  cruel  enough  to  tell  her 
that." 

"  But  if  she  —  or  if  Mrs.  Tretherick  —  had  heard  of  it  ? 
It  Carry  thought  you  were  poor  and  unable  to  support  her 
properly,  it  might  influence  her  decision.  Young  girls  are 
fond  of  the  position  that  wealth  can  give.  She  may  have 
rich  friends  —  maybe  a  lover." 

Mrs.  Starbottle  winced  at  the  last  sentence.  "  But,"  she 
said  eagerly,  grasping  Jack's  hand,  "  when  you  found  me 
sick  and  helpless  at  Sacramento ;  when  you  —  God  bless 
you  for  it,  Jack  !  —  offered  to  help  me  to  the  East,  you  said 
you  knew  of  something  —  you  had  some  plan  —  that  would 
make  me  and  Carry  independent." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack  hastily,  "  but  I  want  you  to  get  strong 
and  well  first.  And  now  that  you  are  calmer,  you  shall 
listen  to  my  visit  to  the  school." 

It  was  then  that  Mr.  Jack  Prince  proceeded  to  describe 
the  interview  already  recorded  with  a  singular  felicity  and 


164  AN   EPISODE    07   FIDDLETOWX 

discretion  that  shames  my  own  account  of  that  proceeding. 
Without  suppressing  a  single  fact,  without  omitting  a  word 
or  detail,  he  yet  managed  to  throw  a  poetic  veil  over  that 
prosaic  episode,  —  to  invest  the  heroine  with  a  romantic 
roseate  atmosphere,  which,  though  not  perhaps  entirely 
imaginary,  still  I  fear  exhibited  that  genius  which  ten  years 
ago  had  made  the  columns  of  the  "  Fiddletown  Avalanche  " 
at  once  fascinating  and  instructive.  It  was  not  until  he  saAV 
the  heightening  color,  and  heard  the  quick  breathing  of  his 
eager  listener,  that  he  felt  a  pang  of  self-reproach.  "  God 
help  her  and  forgive  me,"  he  muttered  between  his  clenched 
teeth,  "  but  how  can  I  tell  her  all  now  !  " 

That  night  when  Mrs.  Starbottle  laid  her  weary  head 
upon  her  pillow  she  tried  to  picture  to  herself  Carry  at  the 
same  moment  sleeping  peacefully  in  the  great  schoolhouse 
on  the  hill,  and  it  was  a  rare  comfort  to  this  yearning,  fool- 
ish woman  to  know  that  she  was  so  near.  But  at  this 
moment  Carry  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  half 
undressed,  pouting  her  pretty  lips,  and  twisting  her  long, 
leonine  locks  between  her  fingers,  as  Miss  Kate  Van  Corlear, 
dramatically  wrapped  in  a  long  white  counterpane,  her 
black  eyes  sparkling,  and  her  thoroughbred  nose  thrown 
high  in  the  air,  stood  over  her  like  a  wrathful  and  indig- 
nant ghost ;  for  Carry  had  that  evening  imparted  her  woes 
and  her  history  to  Miss  Kate,  and  that  young  lady  had 
"  proved  herself  no  friend,"  by  falling  into  a  state  of  fiery 
indignation  over  Carry's  "  ingratitude,"  and  openly  and 
shamelessly  espousing  the  claims  of  Mrs.  Starbottle. 
"  Why,  if  the  half  you  tell  me  is  true,  your  mother  and 
those  Robinsons  are  making  of  you  not  only  a  little  coward, 
but  a  little  snob,  miss.  Respectability,  forsooth!  Look 
you !  my  family  are  centuries  before  the  Trethericks,  but  if 
my  family  had  ever  treated  me  in  this  way,  and  then  asked 
me  to  turn  my  back  on  my  best  friend,  I  'd  whistle  them 
down  the  wind  !  "  and  here  Kate  snapped  her  fingers,  bent 


AN   EPISODE    OF   FIDDLETOWN  165 

her  black  brows,  and  glared  around  the  room,  as  if  in  search 
of  a  recreant  Van  Corlear. 

"  You  just  talk  this  way  because  you  have  taken  a  fancy 
to  that  Mr.  Prince,"  said  Carry. 

In  the  debasing  slang  of  the  period  that  had  even  found 
its  way  into  the  virgin  cloisters  of  the  Crammer  Institute, 
Miss  Kate,  as  she  afterwards  expressed  it,  instantly  "  went 
for  her." 

First,  with  a  shake  of  her  head  she  threw  her  long  black 
hair  over  one  shoulder,  then  dropping  one  end  of  the  coun- 
terpane from  the  other  like  a  vestal  tunic,  she  stepped 
before  Carry  with  a  purposely  exaggerated  classic  stride. 
"  And  what  if  I  have,  miss  ?  What  if  I  happen  to  know  a 
gentleman  when  I  see  him  ?  What  if  I  happen  to  know 
that  among  a  thousand  such  traditional,  conventional,  feeble 
editions  of  their  grandfathers  as  Mr.  Harry  Robinson,  you 
cannot  find  one  original,  independent,  individualized  gentle- 
man like  your  Prince  !  Go  to  bed,  miss  !  and  pray  to  Hea- 
ven that  he  may  be  your  Prince  indeed  !  Ask  to  have  a 
contrite  and  grateful  heart,  and  thank  the  Lord  in  particular 
for  having  sent  you  such  a  friend  as  Kate  Van  Corlear ! " 
Yet,  after  an  imposing  dramatic  exit,  she  reappeared  the 
next  moment  as  a  straight  white  flash,  kissed  Carry  between 
the  brows,  and  was  gone. 

The  next  day  was  a  weary  one  to  Jack  Prince.  He  was 
convinced  in  his  mind  that  Carry  would  not  come,  yet  to 
keep  this  consciousness  from  Mrs.  Starbottle,  to  meet  her 
simple  hopefulness  with  an  equal  degree  of  apparent  faith, 
was  a  hard  and  difficult  task.  He  would  have  tried  to 
divert  her  mind  by  taking  her  on  a  long  drive,  but  she  was 
fearful  that  Carry  might  come  during  her  absence,  and  her 
strength,  he  was  obliged  to  admit,  had  failed  greatly.  As 
he  looked  into  her  large  and  awe-inspiring  clear  eyes,  a 
something  he  tried  to  keep  from  his  mind  —  to  put  off  day 
by  day  from  contemplation  —  kept  asserting  itself  directly 


166  AN   EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN 

to  his  inner  consciousness.  He  began  to  doubt  the  expe- 
diency and  wisdom  of  his  management ;  lie  recalled  every 
incident  of  his  interview  with  Carry,  and  half  believed 
that  its  failure  was  due  to  himself.  Yet  Mrs.  Starbottle  was 
very  patient  and  confident ;  her  very  confidence  shook  his 
faith  in  his  own  judgment.  When  her  strength  was  equal 
to  the  exertion,  she  was  propped  up  in  her  chair  by  the 
window,  where  she  could  see  the  school  and  the  entrance 
to  the  hotel.  In  the  intervals  she  would  elaborate  pleasant 
plans  for  the  future,  and  would  sketch  a  country  home. 
She  had  taken  a  strange  fancy,  as  it  seemed  to  Prince,  to 
the  present  location,  but  it  was  notable  that  the  future 
always  thus  outlined  was  one  of  quiet  and  repose.  She 
believed  she  would  get  well  soon ;  in  fact  she  thought  she 
was  now  much  better  than  she  had  been,  but  it  might  be 
long  before  she  should  be  quite  strong  again.  She  would 
whisper  on  in  this  way  until  Jack  would  dash  madly  down 
into  the  bar-room,  order  liquors  that  he  did  not  drink, 
light  cigars  that  he  did  not  smoke,  talk  with  men  that  he 
did  not  listen  to,  arid  behave  generally  as  our  stronger  sex 
is  apt  to  do  in  periods  of  delicate  trials  and  perplexity. 

The  day  closed  with  a  clouded  sky  and  a  bitter  searching 
wind.  With  the  night  fell  a  few  wandering  flakes  of  snow. 
She  was  still  content  and  hopeful,  and  as  Jack  wheeled  her 
from  the  window  to  the  fire,  she  explained  to  him  how  that, 
as  the  school-term  was  drawing  near  its  close,  Carry  was 
probably  kept  closely  at  her  lessons  during  the  day,  and 
could  only  leave  the  school  at  night.  So  she  sat  up  the 
greater  part  of  the  evening  and  combed  her  silken  hair,  and 
as  far  as  her  strength  would  allow  made  an  undress  toilette 
to  receive  her  guest.  "  We  must  not  frighten  the  child, 
Jack,"  she  said  apologetically  and  with  something  of  her 
old  coquetry. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that,  at  ten  o'clock,  Jack 
received  a  message  from  the  landlord,  saying  that  the 


AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN  167 

doctor  would  like  to  see  him  for  a  moment  downstairs.  As 
Jack  entered  the  grim,  dimly  lighted  parlor,  he  observed 
the  hooded  figure  of  a  woman  near  the  fire.  He  was  about 
to  withdraw  again,  when  a  voice  that  he  remembered  very 
pleasantly  said,  — 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right.     I'm  the  doctor." 

The  hood  was  thrown  back,  and  Prince  saw  the  shin- 
ing black  hair,  and  black,  audacious  eyes,  of  Kate  Van 
Corlear. 

"  Don't  ask  any  question.  I  'm  the  doctor,  and  there 's 
my  prescription,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  half-frightened, 
half-sobbing  Carry  in  the  corner  ;  "  to  be  taken  at  once  !  " 

"  Then  Mrs.  Tretherick  has  given  her  permission  ?  " 

"Not  much,  if  I  know  the  sentiments  of  that  lady," 
replied  Kate  saucily. 

"  Then  how  did  you  get  away  ?  "  asked  Prince  gravely. 

"  BY  THE  WINDOW." 

When  Mr.  Prince  had  left  Carry  in  the  arms  of  her 
stepmother,  he  returned  to  the  parlor. 

"  Well  ?  "  demanded  Kate. 

"  She  will  stay  —  you  will,  I  hope,  also,  to-night." 

"  As  I  shall  not  be  eighteen  and  my  own  mistress  on  the 
20th,  and  as  I  haven't  a  sick  stepmother,  I  won't." 

"  Then  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  safely 
through  the  window  again  ?  " 

When  Mr.  Prince  returned  an  hour  later,  he  found  Carry 
sitting  on  a  low  stool  at  Mrs.  Starbottle's  feet.  Her  head 
was  in  her  stepmother's  lap,  and  she  had  sobbed  herself  to 
sleep.  Mrs.  Starbottle  put  her  finger  to  her  lip.  "  I  told 
you  she  would  come.  God  bless  you,  Jack,  and  good- 
night." 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Tretherick,  indignant,  the  Rev. 
Asa  Crammer,  Principal,  injured,  and  Mr.  Joel  Robinson, 
Senior,  complacently  respectable,  called  upon  Mr.  Prince. 
There  was  a  stormy  meeting,  ending  in  a  demand  foi 


168  AN    EPISODE   OF  FIDDLETOWN 

Carry.  "  We  certainly  cannot  admit  of  this  interference," 
said  Mrs.  Tretherick,  a  fashionably  dressed  indistinctive- 
looking  woman  ;  "  it  is  several  days  before  the  expiration  of 
our  agreement,  and  we  do  not  feel,  under  the  circumstances, 
justified  in  releasing  Mrs.  Starbottle  from  its  conditions." 
"  Until  the  expiration  of  the  school-term,  we  must  consider 
Miss  Tretherick  as  complying  entirely  with  its  rules  and 
discipline,"  interposed  Dr.  Crammer.  "  The  whole  proceed- 
ing is  calculated  to  injure  the  prospects  and  compromise 
the  position  of  Miss  Tretherick  in  society,"  suggested  Mr. 
Robinson. 

In  vain  Mr.  Prince  urged  the  failing  condition  of  Mrs. 
Starbottle,  her  absolute  freedom  from  complicity  with  Carry's 
flight,  the  pardonable  and  natural  instincts  of  the  girl,  and 
his  o"wn  assurance  that  they  were  willing  to  abide  by  her 
decision.  And  then,  with  a  rising  color  in  his  cheek,  a 
dangerous  look  in  his  eye,  but  a  singular  calmness  in  his 
speech,  he  added,  — 

"  One  word  more.  It  becomes  my  duty  to  inform  you 
of  a  circumstance  which  would  certainly  justify  me,  as  an 
executor  of  the  late  Mr.  Tretherick,  in  fully  resisting  your 
demands.  A  few  months  after  Mr.  Tretherick's  death, 
through  the  agency  of  a  Chinaman  in  his  employment  it 
was  discovered  that  he  had  made  a  will,  which  was  subse- 
quently found  among  his  papers.  The  insignificant  value  of 
his  bequest  —  mostly  land,  then  quite  valueless  —  prevented 
his  executors  from  carrying  out  his  wishes,  or  from  even, 
proving  the  will,  or  making  it  otherwise  publicly  known, 
until  within  the  last  two  or  three  years,  when  the  property 
has  enormously  increased  in  value.  The  provisions  of  that 
beqviest  are  simple,  but  unmistakable.  The  property  is 
divided  between  Carry  and  her  stepmother,  with  the  explicit 
condition  that  Mrs.  Starbottle  shall  become  her  legal  guard- 
ian, provide  for  her  education,  and  in  all  details  stand  to  her 
in  loco  parentis." 


AN    EPISODE   OF   FJDDLETOWN  169 

"  What  is  the  value  of  this  bequest  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Kobin- 
son.  "  I  cannot  tell  exactly,  but  not  far  from  half  a  million, 
I  should  say,"  returned  Prince.  "  Certainly,  with  this 
knowledge,  as  a  friend  of  Miss  Tretherick,  I  must  say  that 
her  conduct  is  as  judicious  as  it  is  honorable  to  her,"  re- 
sponded Mr.  Robinson.  "  I  shall  not  presume  to  question 
the  wishes  or  throw  any  obstacles  in  the  way  of  carrying  out 
the  intentions  of  my  dead  husband,"  added  Mrs.  Tretherick, 
and  the  interview  was  closed. 

When  its  result  was  made  known  to  Mrs.  Starbottle,  she 
raised  Jack's  hand  to  her  feverish  lips.  "  It  cannot  add  to 
my  happiness  now,  Jack  ;  but  tell  me,  why  did  you  keep  it 
from  her  ?  "  Jack  smiled,  but  did  not  reply. 

Within  the  next  week  the  necessary  legal  formalities  were 
concluded,  and  Carry  was  restored  to  her  stepmother.  At 
Mrs.  Starbottle's  request  a  small  house  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  town  was  procured,  and  thither  they  removed  to  wait 
the  spring  and  Mrs.  Starbottle's  convalescence.  Both  came 
tardily  that  year. 

Yet  she  was  happy  and  patient.  She  was  fond  of  watching 
the  budding  of  the  trees  beyond  her  window,  —  a  novel  sight 
to  her  California!!  experience,  —  and  of  asking  Carry  their 
names  and  seasons.  Even  at  this  time  she  projected  "for 
that  summer,  which  seemed  to  her  so  mysteriously  withheld, 
long  walks  with  Carry  through  the  leafy  woods  whose  gray, 
misty  ranks  she  could  see  along  the  hilltop.  She  even 
thought  she  could  write  poetry  about  them,  and  recalled 
the  fact  as  evidence  of  her  gaining  strength ;  and  there  is,  I 
believe,  still  treasured  by  one  of  the  members  of  this  little 
household,  a  little  carol,  so  joyous,  so  simple,  and  so  innocent 
that  it  might  have  been  an  echo  of  the  robin  that  called  to 
her  from  the  window,  as  perhaps  it  was. 

And  then,  without  warning,  there  dropped  from  heaven 
a  day  so  tender,  so  mystically  soft,  so  dreamily  beautiful,  so 
throbbing  and  alive  with  the  fluttering  of  invisible  wings,  so 


170  AN   EPISODE   OF   FIDDLETOWN 

replete  and  bounteously  overflowing  with  an  awakening  and 
joyous  resurrection  not  taught  by  man  or  limited  by  creed, 
that  they  thought  it  fit  to  bring  her  out  and  lay  her  in  that 
glorious  sunshine  that  sprinkled  like  the  droppings  of  a 
bridal  torch  the  happy  lintels  and  doors.  And  there  she 
lay,  beatified  and  calm. 

Wearied  by  watching,  Carry  had  fallen  asleep  by  her 
side,  and  Mrs.  Starbottle's  thin  fingers  lay  like  a  benedic- 
tion on  her  head.  Presently  she  called  Jack  to  her  side. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  she  whispered ;  "  who  just  came  in  ?  " 

"Miss  Van  Corlear,"  said  Jack,  answering  the  look  in 
her  great  hollow  eyes. 

"  Jack,"  she  said  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  sit  by  me  a 
moment,  dear  Jack  ;  I've  something  I  must  say.  If  I  ever 
seemed  hard  or  cold  or  coquettish  to  you  in  the  old  days,  it 
was  because  I  loved  you,  Jack,  too  well  to  mar  your  future 
by  linking  it  with  my  own.  I  always  loved  you,  dear  Jack, 
even  when  I  seemed  least  worthy  of  you.  That  is  gone 
now;  but  I  had  a  dream  lately,  Jack,  a  foolish  woman's 
dream,  that  you  might  find  what  I  lacked  in  her,"  and  she 
glanced  lovingly  at  the  sleeping  girl  at  her  side ;  "  that 
you  might  love  her  as  you  have  loved  me.  But  even  that 
is  hot  to  be,  Jack  —  is  it  ?  "  and  she  glanced  wistfully  in 
his  face.  Jack  pressed  her  hand,  but  did  not  speak.  After 
a  few  moments'  silence  she  again  said,  "  Perhaps  you  are 
right  in  your  choice.  She  is  a  good-hearted  girl,  Jack  — 
but  a  little  bold." 

And  with  this  last  nicker  of  foolish,  weak  humanity  in 
her  struggling  spirit,  she  spoke  no  more.  When  they  came 
to  her  a  moment  later,  a  tiny  bird  that  had  lit  upon  her 
breast  flew  away,  and  the  hand  that  they  lifted  from  Carry's 
head  fell  lifeless  at  her  side. 


A   PASSAGE   IN   THE    LIFE   OF   MR.   JOHN 
OAKHURST 

HE  always  thought  it  must  have  been  Fate.  Certainly 
nothing  could  have  been  more  inconsistent  with  his  habits 
than  to  have  been  in  the  Plaza  at  seven  o'clock  of  that 
midsummer  morning.  The  sight  of  his  colorless  face  in 
Sacramento  was  rare  at  that  season,  and  indeed  at  any 
season,  anywhere,  publicly,  before  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. Looking  back  upon  it  in  after  years,  in  the  light  of 
a  chanceful  life,  he  determined,  with  the  characteristic 
philosophy  of  his  profession,  that  it  must  have  been  Fate. 

Yet  it  is  my  duty,  as  a  strict  chronicler  of  facts,  to  state 
that  Mr.  Oakhurst's  presence  there  that  morning  was  due 
to  a  very  simple  cause.  At  exactly  half  past  six,  the  bank 
being  then  a  winner  to  the  amount  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  he  had  risen  from  the  faro-table,  relinquished  his 
seat  to  an  accomplished  assistant,  and  withdrawn  quietly, 
without  attracting  a  glance  from  the  silent,  anxious  faces 
bowed  over  the  table.  But  when  he  entered  his  luxurious 
sleeping -room,  across  the  passage  way,  he  was  a  little 
shocked  at  finding  the  sun  streaming  through  an  inadvert- 
ently opened  window.  Something  in  the  rare  beauty  of 
the  morning,  perhaps  something  in  the  novelty  of  the  idea, 
struck  him  as  he  was  about  to  close  the  blinds,  and  he 
hesitated.  Then,  taking  his  hat  from  the  table,  he  stepped 
down  a  private  staircase  into  the  street. 

The  people  who  were  abroad  at  that  early  hour  were  of 
a  class  quite  unknown  to  Mr.  Oakhurst.  There  were 
milkmen  and  hucksters  delivering  their  wares,  small 


172      PASSAGE    IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN    OAKHURST 

tradespeople  opening  their  shops,  housemaids  sweeping 
doorsteps,  and  occasionally  a  child.  These  Mr.  OaKhurst 
regarded  with  a  certain  cold  curiosity,  perhaps  quite  free 
from  the  cynical  disfavor  with  which  he  generally  looked 
upon  the  more  pretentious  of  his  race  whom  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  meeting.  Indeed,  I  think  he  was  not  altogether 
displeased  with  the  admiring  glances  which  these  humble 
women  threw  after  his  handsome  face  and  figure,  conspic- 
uous even  in  a  country  of  fine-looking  men.  While  it  is 
very  probable  that  this  wicked  vagabond,  in  the  pride  of 
his  social  isolation,  would  have  been  coldly  indifferent  to 
the  advances  of  a  fine  lady,  a  little  girl  who  ran  admiringly 
by  his  side  in  a  ragged  dress  had  the  power  to  call  a  faint 
flush  into  his  colorless  cheek.  He  dismissed  her  at  last, 
but  not  until  she  had  found  out  —  what  sooner  or  later  her 
large-hearted  and  discriminating  sex  inevitably  did  —  that 
he  was  exceedingly  free  and  open-handed  with  his  money, 
and  also  —  what  perhaps  none  other  of  her  sex  ever  did  — 
that  the  bold  black  eyes  of  this  fine  gentleman  were  in 
reality  of  a  brownish  and  even  tender  gray. 

There  was  a  small  garden  before  a  white  cottage  in  a 
side-street  that  attracted  Mr.  Oakhurst's  attention.  It  was 
filled  with  roses,  heliotrope,  and  verbena,  —  flowers  familiar 
enough  to  him  in  the  expensive  and  more  portable  form  of 
bouquets,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  him  then,  never  before  so 
notably  lovely.  Perhaps  it  was  because  the  dew  was  yet 
fresh  upon  them,  perhaps  it  was  because  they  were  un- 
plucked,  but  Mr.  Oakhurst  admired  them,  not  as  a  possible 
future  tribute  to  the  fascinating  and  accomplished  Miss 
Ethelinda,  then  performing  at  the  Varieties,  for  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst's^  especial  benefit,  as  she  had  often  assured  him  ;  nor 
yet  as  a  douceur  to  the  enthralling  Miss  Montmorrissy,  with 
whom  Mr.  Oakhurst  expected  to  sup  that  evening,  but 
simply  for  himself,  and  mayhap  for  the  flowers'  sake.  How- 
beit,  he  passed  on,  and  so  out  into  the  open  plaza,  where, 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN    OAKHUKST      172 

finding  a  bench  under  a  cottonwood-tree,  he  first  dusted 
the  seat  with  his  handkerchief,  and  then  sat  down. 

It  was  a  fine  morning.  The  air  was  so  still  and  calm 
that  a  sigh  from  the  sycamores  seemed  like  the  deep-drawn 
breath  of  the  just  awakening  tree,  and  the  faint  rustle  of  its 
boughs  as  the  outstretching  of  cramped  and  reviving  limbs. 
Far  away  the  Sierras  stood  out  against  a  sky  so  remote  as 
to  be  of  no  positive  color,  —  so  remote  that  even  the  sun 
despaired  of  ever  reaching  it,  and  so  expended  its  strength 
recklessly  on  the  whole  landscape,  until  it  fairly  glittered  in 
a  white  and  vivid  contrast.  With  a  very  rare  impulse,  Mr. 
Oakhurst  took  off  his  hat,  and  half  reclined  on  the  bench, 
with  his  face  to  the  sky.  Certain  birds  who  had  taken  a 
critical  attitude  on  a  spray  above  him  apparently  began  an 
animated  discussion  regarding  his  possible  malevolent  in- 
tentions. One  or  two,  emboldened  by  the  silence,  hopped 
on  the  ground  at  his  feet,  until  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the 
gravel  walk  frightened  them  away. 

Looking  up,  he  saw  a  man  coming  slowly  towards  him, 
wheeling  a  nondescript  vehicle  in  which  a  woman  was  partly 
sitting,  partly  reclining.  Witho\it  knowing  why,  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  instantly  conceived  that  the  carriage  was  the  invention 
and  workmanship  of  the  man,  partly  from  its  oddity,  partly 
from  the  strong,  mechanical  hand  that  grasped  it,  and  partly 
from  a  certain  pride  and  visible  consciousness  in  the  manner 
in  which  the  man  handled  it.  Then  Mr.  Oakhurst  saw 
something  more,  —  the  man's  face  was  familiar.  With  that 
regal  faculty  of  not  forgetting  a  face  that  had  ever  given 
him  professional  audience,  he  instantly  classified  it  under 
the  following  mental  formula  :  "  At  'Frisco,  Polka  Saloon. 
Lost  his  week's  wages.  I  reckon  seventy  dollars  —  on 
red.  Never  came  again."  There  was,  however,  no  trace 
of  this  in  the  calm  eyes  and  unmoved  face  that  he  turned 
upon  the  stranger,  who,  on  the  contrary,  blushed,  looked 
embarrassed,  hesitated,  and  then  stopped  with  an  involun 


174      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.   JOHN   OAEHUEST 

tary  motion  that  brought  the  carriage  and  its  fair  occupant 
face  to  face  with  Mr.  Oakhurst. 

I  should  hardly  do  justice  to  the  position  she  will  occupy 
in  this  veracious  chronicle  by  describing  the  lady  now  —  if, 
indeed,  I  am  able  to  do  it  at  all.  Certainly,  the  popular 
estimate  was  conflicting.  The  late  Colonel  Starbottle  —  to 
whose  large  experience  of  a  charming  sex  I  have  before 
been  indebted  for  many  valuable  suggestions  —  had,  I  re- 
gret to  say,  depreciated  her  fascinations.  "  A  yellow-faced 
cripple,  by  dash  —  a  sick  woman,  with  mahogany  eyes.  One 
of  your  blanked  spiritual  creatures,  with  no  flesh  on  her 
bones."  On  the  other  hand,  however,  she  enjoyed  later 
much  complimentary  disparagement  from  her  own  sex. 
Miss  Celestina  Howard,  second  leader  in  the  ballet  at  the 
Varieties,  had,  with  great  alliterative  directness,  in  after 
years,  denominated  her  as  an  "  aquiline  asp."  Mile. 
Brimborion  remembered  that  she  had  always  warned  "  Mr. 
Jack  "  that  this  woman  would  "  empoison  "  him.  But  Mr. 
Oakhurst,  whose  impressions  are  perhaps  the  most  impor- 
tant, only  saw  a  pale,  thin,  deep-eyed  woman,  raised  above 
the  level  of  her  companion  by  the  refinement  of  long  suffer- 
ing and  isolation,  and  a  certain  shy  virginity  of  manner. 
There  was  a  suggestion  of  physical  purity  in  the  folds  of  her 
fresh-looking  robe,  and  a  certain  picturesque  tastefulness  in 
the  details,  that,  without  knowing  why,  made  him  think 
that  the  robe  was  her  invention  and  handiwork,  even  as  the 
£arriage  she  occupied  was  evidently  the  work  of  her  com- 
panion. Her  own  hand,  a  trifle  too  thin,  but  well-shaped, 
subtle-fingered,  and  gentlewomanly,  rested  on  the  side  of 
the  carriage,  the  counterpart  of  the  strong  mechanical  grasp 
of  her  companion's. 

There  was  some  obstruction  to  the  progress  of  the  vehicle, 
and  Mr.  Oakhurst  stepped  forward  to  assist.  While  the 
wheel  was  being  lifted  over  the  curbstone,  it  was  necessary 
that  she  should  hold  his  arm,  and  for  a  moment  her  thin 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      175 

hand  rested  there,  light  and  cold  as  a  snowflake,  and  then 

—  as  it  seemed  to  him  —  like  a  snowflake  melted   away. 
Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  then  conversation  —  the  lady 
joining  occasionally  and  shyly. 

It  appeared  that  they  were  man  and  wife.  That  for  the 
past  two  years  she  had  been  a  great  invalid,  and  had  lost 
the  use  of  her  lower  limbs  from  rheumatism.  That  until 
lately  she  had  been  confined  to  her  bed,  until  her  husband 

—  who  was  a  master  carpenter  —  had  bethought  himself  to 
make  her  this  carriage.      He  took  her  out  regularly  for  an 
airing  before  going  to  work,  because  it  was  his  only  time, 
and  —  they  attracted  less  attention.     They  had  tried  many 
doctors,  but  without  avail.      They  had  been  advised  to  go 
to  the  Sulphur  Springs,  but  it  was  expensive.     Mr.  Decker, 
the  husband,  had  once  saved  eighty  dollars  for  that  purpose, 
but  while  in  San  Francisco  had  his  pocket  picked  —  Mr. 
Decker  was  so  senseless.      (The  intelligent  reader  need  nol 
be  told  that  it  is  the  lady  who  is  speaking.)     They  had 
never  been  able  to  make  up  the  sum  again,  and  they  had 
given  up  the  idea.      It  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  have  one's 
pocket  picked.      Did  he  not  think  so  ? 

Her  husband's  face  was  crimson,  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's 
countenance  was  quite  calm  and  unmoved,  as  he  gravely 
agreed  with  her,  and  walked  by  her  side  until  they  passed, 
the  little  garden  that  he  had  admired.  Here  Mr.  Oakhurst 
commanded  a  halt,  and,  going  to  the  door,  astounded  the 
proprietor  by  a  preposterously  extravagant  offer  for  a  choice 
of  the  flowers.  Presently  he  returned  to  the  carriage  with 
his  arms  full  of  roses,  heliotrope,  and  verbena,  and  cast 
them  in  the  lap  of  the  invalid.  While  she  was  bending 
over  them  with  childish  delight,  Mr.  Oakhurst  took  the 
opportunity  of  drawing  her  husband  aside. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  a  manner  quite 
free  from  any  personal  annoyance,  —  "  perhaps  it 's  just  as 
well  that  you  lied  to  her  as  you  did.  You  can  say  now  that 


176      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN    OAKHURST 

the  pickpocket  was  arrested  the  other  day,  and  you  got 
your  money  back."  Mr.  Oakhurst  quietly  slipped  four 
twenty-dollar  gold  -  pieces  into  the  broad  hand  of  the  be- 
wildered Mr.  Decker.  "  Say  that  —  or  anything  you  like  — 
but  the  truth.  Promise  me  you  won't  say  that !  " 

The  man  promised.  Mr.  Oakhurst  quietly  returned  to 
the  front  of  the  little  carriage.  The  sick  woman  was  still 
eagerly  occupied  with  the  flowers,  and  as  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  his,  her  faded  cheek  seemed  to  have  caught  some 
color  from  the  roses,  and  her  eyes  some  of  their  dewy  fresh- 
ness. But  at  that  instant  Mr.  Oakhurst  lifted  his  hat,  and 
before  she  could  thank  him  was  gone. 

I  grieve  to  say  that  Mr.  Decker  shamelessly  broke  his 
promise.  That  night,  in  the  very  goodness  of  his  heart  and 
uxorious  self-abnegation,  he,  like  all  devoted  husbands,  not 
only  offered  himself,  but  his  friend  and  benefactor,  as  a 
sacrifice  on  the  family  altar.  It  is  only  fair,  however,  to 
add  that  he  spoke  with  great  fervor  of  the  generosity  of 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  and  dealt  with  an  enthusiasm  quite  common 
with  his  class  on  the  mysterious  fame  and  prodigal  vices  of 
the  gambler. 

"  And  now,  Elsie,  dear,  say  that  you  '11  forgive  me,"  said 
Mr.  Decker,  dropping  on  one  knee  beside  his  wife's  couch. 
"  I  did  it  for  the  best.  It  was  for  you,  dearey,  that  I  put 
that  money  on  them  cards  that  night  in  'Frisco.  I  thought 
to  win  a  heap,  —  enough  to  take  you  away,  and  enough  left 
to  get  you  a  new  dress." 

Mrs.  Decker  smiled  and  pressed  her  husband's  hand. 
"  I  do  forgive  you,  Joe,  dear,"  she  said,  still  smiling,  with 
eyes  abstractedly  fixed  on  the  ceiling  ;  "  and  you  ought  to  be 
whipped  for  deceiving  me  so,  you  bad  boy,  and  making  me 
make  such  a  speech.  There,  say  no  more  about  it.  If 
you  '11  be  very  good  hereafter,  and  will  just  now  hand  me 
that  cluster  of  roses,  I'll  forgive  you."  She  took  the 
branch  in  her  fingers,  lifted  the  roses  to  her  face,  and  pre- 
sently said,  behind  their  leaves,  — 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE    OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHUKST      177 

"  Joe !  " 

"  What  is  it,  lovey  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  this  Mr.  —  what  do  you  call  him  £ 
—  Jack  Oakhurst  would  have  given  that  money  back  to 
you  if  I  had  n't  made  that  speech  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  If  he  had  n't  seen  me  at  all  ?  " 

Mr.  Decker  looked  up.  >  His  wife  had  managed  in  some 
way  to  cover  up  her  whole  face  with  the  roses,  except  her 
eyes,  which  were  dangerously  bright. 

"  No ;  it  was  you,  Elsie  —  it  was  all  along  of  seeing  you 
that  made  him  do  it." 

."  A  poor  sick  woman  like  me  ?  " 

"A  sweet,  little,  lovely,  pooty  Elsie— Joe's  own  little 
wifey  !  How  could  he  help  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Decker  fondly  cast  one  arm  around  her  husband's 
neck,  still  keeping  the  roses  to  her  face  with  the  other. 
From  behind  them  she  began  to  murmur  gently  and  idiot- 
ically, u  Dear,  ole  square  Joey.  Elsie's  oney  booful  big 
bear."  But,  really,  I  do  not  see  that  my  duty  as  a  chroni- 
cler of  facts  compels  me  to  continue  this  little  lady's  speech 
any  further,  and  out  of  respect  to  the  unmarried  reader  I 
stop. 

Nevertheless,  the  next  morning  Mrs.  Decker  betrayed 
some  slight  and  apparently  uncalled-for  irritability  on  reach- 
ing the  plaza,  and  presently  desired  her  husband  to  wheel 
her  back  home.  Moreover,  she  was  very  much  astonished 
at  meeting  Mr.  Oakhurst  just  as  they  were  returning,  and 
even  doubted  if  it  were  he,  and  questioned  her  husband  as 
to  his  identity  with  the  stranger  of  yesterday  as  he  ap- 
proached. Her  manner  to  Mr.  Oakhurst,  also,  was  quite  in 
contrast  with  her  husband's  frank  welcome.  Mr.  Oakhurst 
instantly  detected  it.  "  Her  husband  has  told  her  all,  and 
she  dislikes  me,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  that  fatal  appre- 
ciation of  the  half-truths  of  a  woman's  motives  that  cause? 


178      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST 

the  wisest  masculine  critic  to  stumble.  He  lingered  only 
long  enough  to  take  the  business  address  of  the  husband, 
and  then,  lifting  his  hat  gravely,  without  looking  at  the 
lady,  went  his  way.  It  struck  the  honest  master  carpenter 
as  one  of  the  charming  anomalies  of  his  wife's  character 
that,  although  the  meeting  was  evidently  very  much  con- 
strained and  unpleasant,  instantly  afterward  his  wife's  spir- 
its began  to  rise.  "  You  was  hard  on  him  —  a  leetle  hard, 
was  n't  you,  Elsie  ?  "  said  Mr.  Decker  deprecatingly.  "  I  'm 
afraid  he  may  think  I've  broke  my  promise."  "Ah,  in- 
deed," said  the  lady  indifferently.  Mr.  Decker  instantly 
stepped  round  to  the  front  of  the  vehicle.  "  You  look  like 
an  A  1  first-class  lady  riding  down  Broadway  in  her  own 
carriage,  Elsie,"  said  he ;  "I  never  seed  you  lookin'  so 
peart  and  sassy  before." 

A  few  days  later  the  proprietor  of  the  San  Isabel  Sulphur 
Springs  received  the  following  note  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  well- 
known  dainty  hand  :  — 

DEAR  STEVE, — I've  been  thinking  over  your  propo- 
sition to  buy  Nichols's  quarter  interest  and  have  concluded 
to  go  in.  But  I  don't  see  how  the  thing  will  pay  until  you 
have  more  accommodation  down  there,  and  for  the  best  class 
• —  I  mean  my  customers.  What  we  want  is  an  extension  to 
the  main  building,  and  two  or  three  cottages  put  up.  I 
send  down  a  builder  to  take  hold  of  the  job  at  once.  He 
takes  his  sick  wife  with  him,  and  you  are  to  look  after  them 
as  you  would  for  one  of  us. 

I  may  run  down  there  myself,  after  the  races,  just  to 
look  after  things  ;  but  I  sha'n't  set  upon  any  game  this  sea- 
son. Yours  always, 

JOHN  OAKHUKST. 

It  was  only  the  last  sentence  of  this  letter  that  provoked 
criticism.  "I  can  understand,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  a  pro- 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      179 

fessional  brother,  to  whom  Mr.  Oakhurst's  letter  was 
shown,  —  "I  can  understand  why  Jack  goes  in  heavy  and 
builds,  for  -it 's  a  sure  spec,  and  is  bound  to  be  a  mighty 
soft  thing  in  time,  if  he  comes  here  regularly.  But  why  in 
blank  he  don't  set  up  a  bank  this  season  and  take  the 
chance  of  getting  some  of  the  money  back  that  he  puts  into 
circulation  in  building,  is  what  gets  me.  I  wonder  now," 
he  mused  deeply,  "  what  is  his  little  game." 

The  season  had  been  a  prosperous  one  to  Mr.  Oakhurst, 
and  proportionally  disastrous  to  several  members  of  the 
Legislature,  judges,  colonels,  and  others  who  had  enjoyed 
but  briefly  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Oakhurst's  midnight  society. 
And  yet  Sacramento  had  become  very  dull  to  him.  He 
had  lately  formed  a  habit  of  early  morning  walks,  —  so  un- 
usual and  startling  to  his  friends,  both  male  and  female,  as 
to  occasion  the  intensest  curiosity.  Two  or  three  of  the 
latter  set  spies  upon  his  track,  but  the  inquisition  resulted 
only  in  the  discovery  that  Mr.  Oakhurst  walked  to  the 
plaza,  sat  down  upon  one  particular  bench  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  returned  without  seeing  anybody,  and  the 
theory  that  there  Avas  a  woman  in  the  case  was  abandoned. 
A  few  superstitious  gentlemen  of  his  own  profession  believed 
that  he  did  it  for  "luck."  Some  others,  more  practical, 
declared  that  he  went  out  to  "study  points." 

After  the  races  at  Marysville,  Mr.  Oakhurst  went  to  San 
Francisco  ;  from  that  place  he  returned  to  Marysville,  but 
a  few  days  after  was  seen  at  San  Jose,  Santa  Cruz,  and 
Oakland.  Those  who  met  him  declared  that  his  manner 
was  restless  and  feverish,  and  quite  unlike  his  ordinary 
calmness  and  phlegm.  Colonel  Starbottle  pointed  out  the 
fact  that  at  San  Francisco,  at  the  Club,  Jack  had  declined  to 
deal.  "  Hand  shaky,  sir  —  depend  upon  it ;  don't  stimu- 
late enough  —  blank  him  !  " 

From  San  Jose  he  started  to  go  to  Oregon  by  land  with 
a  rather  expensive  outfit  of  horses  and  camp  equipage,  but 


180      PASSAGE    IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST 

on  reaching  Stockton  he  suddenly  diverged,  and  four  hours 
later  found  him,  with  a  single  horse,  entering  the  canon  of 
the  San  Isabel  Warm  Sulphur  Springs. 

It  was  a  pretty  triangular  valley  lying  at  the  foot  of  three 
sloping  mountains,  dark  with  pines  and  fantastic  with  ma- 
drono and  manzanita.  Nestling  against  the  mountain-side, 
the  straggling  buildings  and  long  piazza  of  the  hotel  glit- 
tered through  the  leaves ;  and  here  and  there  shone  a  white 
toy-like  cottage.  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  not  an  admirer  of 
nature,  but  he  felt  something  of  the  same  novel  satisfac- 
tion in  the  view  that  he  experienced  in  his  first  morning 
walk  in  Sacramento.  And  now  carriages  began  to  pass 
him  on  the  road  filled  with  gayly  dressed  women,  and  the 
cold  California  outlines  of  the  landscape  began  to  take 
upon  themselves  somewhat  of  a  human  warmth  and  color. 
And  then  the  long  hotel  piazza  came  in  view,  efflorescent 
with  the  full-toileted  fair.  Mr.  Oakhurst,  a  good  rider 
after  the  California  fashion,  did  not  check  his  speed  as 
he  approached  his  destination,  but  charged  the  hotel  at  a 
gallop,  threw  his  horse  on  his  haunches  within  a  foot  of  the 
piazza,  and  then  quietly  emerged  from  the  cloud  of  dust 
that  veiled  his  dismounting. 

Whatever  feverish  excitement  might  have  raged  within, 
all  his  habitual  calm  returned  as  he  stepped  upon  the 
piazza.  With  the  instinct  of  long  habit  he  turned  and  faced 
the  battery  of  eyes  with  the  same  cold  indifference  with 
which  he  had  for  years  encountered  the  half-hidden  sneers 
of  men  and  the  half-frightened  admiration  of  women.  Only 
one  person  stepped  forward  to  welcome  him.  Oddly 
enough,  it  was  Dick  Hamilton,  perhaps  the  only  one  pre- 
sent who,  by  birth,  education,  and  position,  might  have 
satisfied  the  most  fastidious  social  critic.  Happily  for  Mr. 
Oakhurst's  reputation,  he  was  also  a  very  rich  banker  and 
social  leader.  "  Do  you  know  who  that  is  you  spoke  to  ?  " 
asked  young  Parker,  with  an  alarmed  expression.  "  Yes," 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE    OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      181 

replied  Hamilton,  with  characteristic  effrontery  ;  "  the  man 
you  lost  a  thousand  dollars  to  last  week.  I  only  know  him 
sm'i(i//.y."  "  But  isn't  he  a  gambler  ?  "  queried  the  young- 
est Miss  Smith.  "  He  is,"  replied  Hamilton ;  "  but  I  wish, 
my  dear  young  lady,  that  we  all  played  as  open  and  honest 
a  game  as  our  friend  yonder,  and  were  as  willing  as  he  is  to 
abide  by  its  fortunes." 

But  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  happily  out  of  hearing  of  this 
colloquy,  and  was  even  then  lounging  listlessly,  yet  watch- 
fully, along  the  upper  hall.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  light 
footstep  behind  him,  and  then  his  name  called  in  a  familiar 
voice  that  drew  the  blood  quickly  to  his  heart.  He  turned, 
and  she  stood  before  bim. 

But  how  transformed  !  If  I  have  hesitated  to  describe 
the  hollow-eyed  cripple,  = —  the  quaintly  dressed  artisan's 
wife,  a  few  pages  ago,  —  what  shall  I  do  with  this  graceful, 
shapely,  elegantly  attired  gentlewoman  into  whom  she  has 
been  merged  within  these  two  months  ?  In  good  faith,  she 
was  very  pretty.  You  and  I,  my  dear  madam,  would  have 
been  quick  to  see  that  those  charming  dimples  were  mis- 
placed for  true  beauty,  and  too  fixed  in  their  quality  for 
.honest  mirthf ulness ;  that  the  delicate  lines  around  those 
aquiline  nostrils  were  cruel  and  selfish ;  that  the  sweet, 
virginal  surprise  of  those  «lovely  eyes  was  as  apt  to  be 
opened  on  her  plate  as  upon  the  gallant  speeches  of  her 
dinner  partner ;  that  her  sympathetic  color  came  and  went 
more  with  her  own  spirits  than  yours.  But  you  and  I  are 
not  in  love  with  her,  dear  madam,  and  Mr.  Oakhurst  is. 
And  even  in  the  folds  of  her  Parisian  gown,  I  am  afraid 
this  poor  fellow  saw  the  same  subtle  strokes  of  purity  that 
he  had  seen  in  her  homespun  robe.  And  then  there  was 
the  delightful  revelation  that  she  could  walk,  and  that  she 
had  dear  little  feet  of  her  own  in  the  tiniest  slippers  of  her 
French  shoemaker,  with  such  preposterous  blue  bows,  and 
Chappell's  own  stamp,  Rue  de  something  or  other,  Paris/ 
on  the  narrow  sole. 


182      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN    OAKHURST 

He  ran  towards  her  with  a  heightened  color  and  out- 
stretched hands.  But  she  whipped  her  own  behind  her, 
glanced  rapidly  up  and  down  the  long  hall,  and  stood 
looking  at  him  with  a  half-audacious,  half-mischievous 
admiration  in  utter  contrast  to  her  old  reserve. 

"  I  've  a  great  mind  not  to  shake  hands  with  you  at  all. 
You  passed  me  just  now  on  the  piazza  without  speaking, 
and  I  ran  after  you,  as  I  suppose  many  another  poor  woman 
has  done." 

Mr.  Oakhurst  stammered  that  she  was  so  changed. 

"  The  more  reason  why  you  should  know  me.  Who 
changed  me  ?  You.  You  have  re-created  me.  You  found 
a  helpless,  crippled,  sick,  poverty-stricken  woman,  with  one 
dress  to  her  back,  and  that  her  own  make,  and  you  gave 
her  life,  health,  strength,  and  fortune.  You  did,  and  you 
know  it,  sir.  How  do  you  like  your  work  ?  "  She  caught 
the  side  seams  of  her  gown  in  either  hand  and  dropped  him 
a  playful  courtesy.  Then,  with  a  sudden,  relenting  gesture, 
she  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

Outrageous  as  this  speech  was,  and  unfeminine,  as  I  trust 
every  fair  reader  will  deem  it,  I  fear  it  pleased  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst.  Not  but  that  he  was  accustomed  to  a  certain  frank, 
female  admiration ;  but  then  it  was  of  the  coulisses  and 
not  of  the  cloister,  with  which  he  always  persisted  in 
associating  Mrs.  Decker.  To  be  addressed  in  this  way  by 
an  invalid  Puritan,  a  sick  saint,  with  the  austerity  of  suffer- 
ing still  clothing  her,  —  a  woman  who  had  a  Bible  on  the 
dressing-table,  who  went  to  church  three  times  a  day,  and 
was  devoted  to  her  husband,  completely  bowled  him  over. 
He  still  held  her  hands  as  she  went  on,  — 

"  Why  did  n't  you  come  before  ?  What  were  you  doing 
in  Marysville,  in  San  Jose,  in  Oakland  ?  You  see  I  have 
followed  you.  I  saw  you  as  you  came  down  the  canon, 
and  knew  you  at  once.  I  saw  your  letter  to  Joseph,  and 
knew  you  were  coming.  Why  did  n't  you  write  to  me  ? 
You  will  some  time  !  Good-evening,  Mr.  Hamilton." 


PASSAGE   IN   THE    LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      183 

She  had  withdrawn  her  hands,  hut  not  until  Hamilton, 
ascending  the  staircase,  was  nearly  ahreast  of  them.  He 
raised  his  hat  to  her  with  well-bred  composure,  nodded 
familiarly  to  Oakhurst,  and  passed  on.  When  he  had  gone 
Mrs.  Decker  lifted  her  eyes  to  Mr.  Oakhurst.  "  Some  day 
I  shall  ask  a  great  favor  of  you ! " 

Mr.  Oakhurst  begged  that  it  should  be  now.  "  No,  not 
until  you  know  me  better.  Then,  some  day,  I  shall  want 
you  to  —  kill  that  man  !  " 

She  laughed,  such  a  pleasant  little  ringing  laugh,  such  a 
display  of  dimples,  —  albeit  a  little  fixed  in  the  corners  of 
her  mouth,  —  such  an  innocent  light  in  her  brown  eyes,  and 
such  a  lovely  color  in  her  cheeks,  that  Mr.  Oakhurst  —  who 
seldom  laughed  —  was  fain  to  laugh  too.  It  was  as  if 
a  lamb  had  proposed  to  a  fox  a  foray  into  a  neighboring 
sheepfold. 

A  few  evenings  after  this,  Mrs.  Decker  arose  from  a 
charmed  circle  of  her  admirers  on  the  hotel  piazza,  excused 
herself  for  a  few  moments,  laughingly  declined  an  escort, 
and  ran  over  to  her  little  cottage  —  one  of  her  husband's 
creation  —  across  the  road.  Perhaps  from  the  sudden  and 
unwonted  exercise  in  her  still  convalescent  state,  she 
breathed  hurriedly  and  feverishly  as  she  entered  her  boudoir, 
and  once  or  twice  placed  her  hand  upon  her  breast.  She 
was  startled  on  turning  up  the  light  to  find  her  husband 
lying  on  the  sofa. 

"  You  look  hot  and  excited,  Elsie,  love,"  said  Mr. 
Decker  ;  "  you  ain't  took  worse,  are  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Decker's  face  had  paled,  but  now  flushed  again. 
"No,"  she  said,  "only  a  little  pain  here,"  as  she  again 
placed  her  hand  upon  her  corsage. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Decker,  rising 
with  affectionate  concern. 

"  Run  over  to  the  hotel  and  get  me  some  brandy, 
quick !  " 


184      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   ME.    JOHN   OAKHURST 

Mr.  Decker  ran.  Mrs.  Decker  closed  and  bolted  the 
door,  and  then  putting  her  hand  to  her  bosom,  drew  out 
the  pain.  It  was  folded  foursquare,  and  was,  I  grieve  to 
say,  in  Mr!  Oakhurst's  handwriting. 

She  devoured  it  with  burning  eyes  and  cheeks  until  there 
came  a  step  upon  the  porch.  Then  she  hurriedly  replaced 
it  in  her  bosom  and  unbolted  the  door.  Her  husband 
entered  ;  she  raised  the  spirits  to  her  lips  and  declared  her- 
self better. 

"  Are  you  going  over  there  again  to-night  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Decker  submissively. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Decker,  with  her  eyes  fixed  dreamily 
on  the  floor. 

"  I  would  n't  if  I  was  you,"  said  Mr.  Decker  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  After  a  pavise  he  took  a  seat  on  the  sofa,  and 
drawing  his  wife  to  his  side,  said,  "  Do  you  know  what  I 
was  thinking  of  when  you  came  in,  Elsie  ?  "  Mrs.  Decker 
ran  her  fingers  through  his  stiff  black  hair,  and  could  n't 
imagine. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  old  times,  Elsie  ;  I  was  thinking  of 
the  days  when  I  built  that  kerridge  for  you,  Elsie  —  when  I 
•used  to  take  you  out  to  ride,  and  was  both  hoss  and  driver  ! 
We  was  poor  then,  and  you  was  sick,  Elsie,  but  we  was 
happy.  We  've  got  money  now,  and  a  house,  and  you  're 
quite  another  woman.  I  may  say,  dear,  that  you  're  a  new 
woman.  And  that 's  where  the  trouble  comes  in.  I  coulu 
build  you  a  kerridge,  Elsie  ;  I  could  build  you  a  house, 
Elsie  —  but  there  I  stopped.  I  could  n't  build  up  you. 
You  're  strong  and  pretty,  Elsie,  and  fresh  and  new.  But 
somehow,  Elsie,  you  ain't  no  work  of  mine  !  " 

He  paused.  With  one  hand  laid  gently  on  his  forehead 
and  the  other  pressed  upon  her  bosom  as  if  to  feel  certain 
of  the  presence  of  her  pain,  she  said  sweetly  and  sooth- 
ingly :  — 

"  But  it  was  your  work,  dear." 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.   JOHN   OAKHUKST      185 

Mr.  Decker  shook  his  head  sorrowfully.  "  No,  Elsie, 
not  mine.  I  had  the  chance  to  do  it  once  and  I  let  it  go. 
It 's  done  now  ;  but  not  by  me." 

Mrs.  Decker  raised  her  surprised,  innocent  eyes  to  his. 
He  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  then  went  on  in  a  more  cheer- 
ful voice. 

"  That  ain't  all  I  was  thinking  of,  Elsie.  I  was  thinking 
that  maybe  you  give  too  much  of  your  company  to  that  Mr. 
Hamilton.  Not  that  there  's  any  wrong  in  it,  to  you  or  him. 
But  it  might  make  people  talk.  You  're  the  only  one  here, 
Elsie,"  said  the  master  carpenter,  looking  fondly  at  his  wife, 
"  who  is  n't  talked  about ;  whose  work  ain't  inspected  or 
condemned." 

Mrs.  Decker  was  glad  he  had  spoken  about  it.  She  had 
thought  so,  too,  but  she  could  not  well  be  uncivil  to  Mr. 
Hamilton,  who  was  a  fine  gentleman,  without  making  a 
powerful  enemy.  "  And  he  's  always  treated  me  as  if  I  was 
u  born  lady  in  his  own  circle,"  added  the  little  woman,  with 
a  certain  pride  that  made  her  husband  fondly  smile.  "  But 
I  have  thought  of  a  plan.  He  will  not  stay  here  if  I 
should  go  away.  If,  for  instance,  I  went  to  San  Francisco 
to  visit  ma  for  a  few  days,  he  would  be  gone  before  I 
should  return." 

Mr.  Decker  was  delighted.  "  By  all  means,"  he  said  ;  "  go 
to-morrow.  Jack  Oakhurst  is  going  down,  and  I  '11  put  you 
in  his  charge." 

Mrs.  Decker  did  not  think  it  was  prudent.  "  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  is  our  friend,  Joseph,  but  you  know  his  reputation." 
In  fact,  she  did  not  know  that  she  ought  to  go  now,  knowing 
that  he  was  going  the  same  day  ;  but  with  a  kiss  Mr.  Decker 
overcame  her  scruples.  She  yielded  gracefully.  Few  women, 
in  fact,  knew  how  to  give  up  a  point  as  charmingly  as  she. 

She  stayed  a  week  in  San  Francisco.  When  she  returned 
she  was  a  trifle  thinner  and  paler  than  she  had  been.  This 
she  explained  as  the  result  of  perhaps  too  active  exercise  and 


186      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST 

excitement.  "  I  was  out  of  doors  nearly  all  the  time,  as  ma 
will  tell  you,"  she  said  to  her  husband,  "  and  always  alone. 
I  am  getting  quite  independent  now,"  she  added  gayly.  "  I 
don't  want  any  escort  —  I  believe,  Joey  dear,  I  could  get 
along  even  without  you  —  I'm  so  brave  !  " 

But  her  visit,  apparently,  had  not  been  productive  of  her 
impelling  design.  Mr.  Hamilton  had  not  gone,  but  had 
remained,  and  called  upon  them  that  very  evening.  "  I  've 
thought  of  a  plan,  Joey,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Decker  when  he 
had  departed.  "  Poor  Mr.  Oakhurst  has  a  miserable  room 
at  the  hotel  —  suppose  you  ask  him  when  he  returns  from  San 
Francisco  to  stop  with  us.  He  can  have  our  spare  room. 
I  don't  think,"  she  added  archly,  "  that  Mr.  Hamilton  will 
call  often."  Her  husband  laughed,  intimated  that  she  was 
a  little  coquette,  pinched  her  cheek,  and  complied.  "  The 
queer  thing  about  a  woman,"  he  said  afterwards  confidentially 
to  Mr.  Oakhurst,  "  is,  that  without  having  any  plan  of  her 
own,  she  '11  take  anybody's  and  build  a  house  on  it  entirely 
different  to  suit  herself.  And  dern  my  skin,  if  you  ''11  be  able 
to  say  whether  or  not  you  did  n't  give  the  scale  and  measure- 
ments yourself.  That 's  what  gets  me." 

The  next  week  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  installed  in  the  Deckers' 
cottage.  The  business  relations  of  her  husband  and  himself 
were  known  to  all,  and  her  own  reputation  was  above  sus- 
picion. Indeed,  few  women  were  more  popular.  She  was 
domestic,  she  was  prudent,  she  was  pious.  .In  a  country 
of  great  feminine  freedom  and  latitude,  she  never  rode  or 
walked  with  anybody  but  her  husband  ;  in  an  epoch  of 
slang  and  ambiguous  expression,  she  was  always  precise  and 
formal  in  her  speech  ;  in  the  midst  of  a  fashion  of  ostenta- 
tious decoration  she  never  wore  a  diamond,  nor  a  single 
valuable  jewel.  She  never  permitted  an  indecorum  in  public  ; 
she  never  countenancpd  the  familiarities  of  California  society. 
She  declaimed  against  the  prevailing  tone  of  infidelity  and 
skepticism  in  religion.  Few  people  who  were  present  will 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      187 

ever  forget  the  dignified  yet  stately  manner  with  which  she 
rebuked  Mr.  Hamilton  in  the  public  parlor  for  entering 
upon  the  discussion  of  a  work  on  materialism,  lately  pub- 
lished ;  and  some  among  them,  also,  will  not  forget  the 
expression  of  amused  surprise  on  Mr.  Hamilton's  face,  that 
gradually  changed  to  sardonic  gravity  as  he  courteously 
waived  his  point.  Certainly,  not  Mr.  Oakhurst,  who  from 
that  moment  began  to  be  uneasily  impatient  of  his  friend, 
and  even  —  if  such  a  term  could  be  applied  to  any  moral 
quality  in  Mr.  Oakhurst  —  to  fear  him. 

For,  during  this  time,  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  begun  to  show 
symptoms  of  a  change  in  his  usual  habits.  He  was  seldom, 
if  ever,  seen  in  his  old  haunts,  in  a  bar-room,  or  with  his  old 
associates.  Pink  and  white  notes,  in  distracted  handwriting, 
accumulated  on  the  dressing-table  in  his  rooms  at  Sacra- 
mento. It  was  given  out  in  San  Francisco  that  he  had  some 
organic  disease  of  the  heart,  for  which  his  physician  had 
prescribed  perfect  rest.  He  read  more,  he  took  long  walks, 
he  sold  his  fast  horses,  he  went  to  church. 

I  have  a  very  vivid  recollection  of  his  first  appearance 
there.  He  did  not  accompany  the  Deckers,  nor  did  he  go 
into  their  pew,  but  came  in  as  the  service  commenced,  and 
took  a  seat  quietly  in  one  of  the  back  pews.  By  some  mys- 
terious instinct  his  presence  became  presently  known  to  the 
congregation,  some  of  whom  so  far  forgot  themselves,  in 
their  curiosity,  as  to  face  around  and  apparently  address 
their  responses  to  him.  Before  the  service  was  over  it  was 
pretty  well  understood  that  "  miserable  sinners  "  meant  Mr. 
Oakhurst.  Nor  did  this  mysterious  influence  fail  to  affect 
the  officiating  clergyman,  who  introduced  an  allusion  to  Mr. 
Oakhurst' s  calling  and  habits  in  a  sermon  on  the  architecture 
of  Solomon's  Temple,  and  in  a  manner  so  pointed  and  yet 
labored  as  to  cause  the  youngest  of  us  to  flame  with  indig- 
nation. Happily,  however,  it  was  lost  upon  Jack  ;  I  do  not 
think  he  even  heard  it.  His  handsome,  colorless  face  — 


188      PASSAGE   IN   THE    LIFE    OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST 

albeit  a  trifle  worn  and  thoughtful  —  was  inscrutable.  Only 
once,  during  the  singing  of  a  hymn,  at  a  certain  note  in  the 
contralto's  voice,  there  crept  into  his  dark  eyes  a  look  of 
wistful  tenderness,  so  yearning  and  yet  so  hopeless  that  those 
who  were  watching  him  felt  their  own  glisten.  Yet  I  retain 
a  very  vivid  remembrance  of  his  standing  up  to  receive  the 
benediction,  with  the  suggestion,  in  his  manner  and  tightly 
buttoned  coat,  of  taking  the  fire  of  his  adversary  at  ten 
paces.  After  church  he  disappeared  as  quietly  as  he  had 
entered,  and  fortunately  escaped  hearing  the  comments  on 
his  rash  act.  His  appearance  was  generally  considered  as 
an  impertinence  —  attributable  only  to  some  wanton  fancy  — 
or  possibly  a  bet.  One  or  two  thought  that  the  sexton  was 
«xceedingly  remiss  in  not  turning  him  out  after  discovering 
who  he  was ;  and  a  prominent  pewholder  remarked  that  if 
he  could  n't  take  his  wife  and  daughters  to  that  church 
without  exposing  them  to  such,  an  influence,  he  would  try 
to  find  some  church  where  he  could.  Another  traced  Mr. 
Oakhurst's  presence  to  certain  Broad  Church  radical  ten- 
dencies, which  he  regretted  to  say  he  had  lately  noted  in 
their  pastor.  Deacon  Sawyer,  whose  delicately  organized, 
sickty  wife  had  already  borne  him  eleven  children,  and  died 
iu  an  ambitious  attempt  to  complete  the  dozen,  avowed  that 
the  presence  of  a  person  of  Mr.  Oakhurst's  various  and  in- 
discriminate gallantries  was  an  insult  to  the  memory  of  the 
deceased  that,  as  a  man,  he  could  not  brook. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Oakhurst,  contrasting 
himself  with  a  conventional  world  in  which  he  had  hitherto 
rarely  mingled,  became  aware  that  there  was  something  in 
his  face,  figure,  and  carriage  quite  unlike  other  men,  — 
something  that  if  it  did  not  betray  his  former  career,  at 
least  showed  an  individuality  and  originality  that  was 
suspicious.  In  this  belief  he  shaved  off  his  long,  silken 
mustache,  and  religiously  brushed  out  his  clustering  curls 
every  morning.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  affect  a  negli- 


PASSAGE    IX   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      189 

gence  of  dress,  and  hid  his  small,  slim,  arched  feet  in  the 
largest  and  heaviest  walking-shoes.  There  is  a  story  told 
that  he  went  to  his  tailor  in  Sacramento,  and  asked  him  to 
make  him  a  suit  of  clothes  like  everybody  else.  The  tailor, 
familiar  with  Mr.  Oakhurst's  fastidiousness,  did  not  know 
what  he  meant.  "  I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst  savagely, 
"  something  respectable,  —  something  that  does  n't  exactly 
fit  me,  you  know."  But  however  Mr.  Oakhurst  might  hide 
his  shapely  limbs  in  homespun  and  home-made  garments, 
there  was  something  in  his  carriage,  something  in  the  pose 
of  his  beautiful  head,  something  in  the  strong  and  fine 
manliness  of  his  presence,  something  in  the  perfect  and 
utter  discipline  and  control  of  his  muscles,  something  in 
the  high  repose  of  his  nature  —  a  repose  not  so  much  a 
matter  of  intellectual  ruling  as  of  his  very  nature  —  that  go 
where  he  would,  and  with  whom,  he  was  always  a  notable 
man  in  ten  thousand.  Perhaps  this  was  never  so  clearly 
intimated  to  Mr.  Oakhurst  as  when,  emboldened  by  Mr. 
Hamilton's  advice  and  assistance  and  his  predilections, 
he  became  a  San  Francisco  broker.  Even  before  objection 
was  made  to  his  presence  in  the  Board  —  the  objection,  I 
remember,  was  urged  very  eloquently  by  Watt  Sanders, 
who  was  supposed  to  be  the  inventor  of  the  "  freezing-out " 
system  of  disposing  of  poor  stockholders,  and  who  also 
enjoyed  the  reputation  of  having  been  the  impelling  cause 
of  Briggs  of  Tuolumne's  ruin  and  suicide  —  even  before 
this  formal  protest  of  respectability  against  lawlessness,  the 
aquiline  suggestions  of  Mr.  .  Oakhurst's  mien  and  counte- 
nance not  only  prematurely  fluttered  the  pigeons,  but  abso- 
lutely occasioned  much  uneasiness  among  the  fish-hawks, 
who  circled  below  him  with  their  booty.  "  Dash  me ! 
but  he 's  as  likely  to  go  after  us  as  anybody,"  said  Joe 
Fielding. 

It  wanted  but  a  few  days  before  the  close  of  the  brief 
summer    season    at    San  Isabel    Warm    Springs.     Already 


190      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   ME.   JOHN   OAKHURST 

there  had  heen  some  migration  of  the  more  fashionable, 
and  there  was  an  uncomfortable  suggestion  of  dregs  and 
lees  in  the  social  life  that  remained.  Mr.  Oakhurst  was 
moody;  it  was  hinted  that  even  the  secure  reputation  of 
Mrs.  Decker  could  no  longer  protect  her  from  the  gossip 
which  his  presence  excited.  It  is  but  fair  to  her  to  say  that 
during  the  last  few  weeks  of  this  trying  ordeal  she  looked 
like  a  sweet,  pale  martyr,  and  conducted  herself  toward  her 
traducers  with  the  gentle,  forgiving  manner  of  one  who 
relied  not  upon  the  idle  homage  of  the  crowd,  but  upon 
the  security  of  a  principle  that  was  dearer  than  popular 
favor.  "  They  talk  about  myself  and  Mr.  Oakhurst,  my 
dear,"  she  said  to  a  friend,  "  but  Heaven  and  my  husband 
can  best  answer  their  calumny.  It  never  shall  be  said  that 
my  husband  ever  turned  his  back  upon  a  friend  in  the 
moment  of  his  adversity  because  the  position  was  changed, 
because  his  friend  was  poor  and  he  was  rich."  This? 
was  the  first  intimation  to  the  public  that  Jack  had 
lost  money,  although  it  was  known  generally  that  the 
Deckers  had  lately  bought  some  valuable  property  in  San 
Francisco. 

A  few  evenings  after  this  an  incident  occurred  which 
seemed  to  unpleasantly  discord  with  the  general  social 
harmony  that  had  always  existed  at  San  Isabel.  It  was 
at  dinner,  and  Mr.  Oakhurst  and  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  sat 
together  at  a  separate  table,  were  observed  to  rise  in  some 
agitation.  When  they  reached  the  hall,  by  a  common 
instinct  they  stepped  into  a  little  breakfast-room  wbich  was 
vacant,  and  closed  the  door.  Then  Mr.  Hamilton  iurned, 
with  a  half-amused,  half-serious  smile,  toward  his  friend, 
and  said,  — 

"  If  we  are  to  quarrel,  Jack  Oakhurst,  —  you  and  1,  —  in 
the  name  of  all  that  is  ridiculous,  don't  let  it  be  about 
a"  — 

I  do  not  know  what  was  the  epithet  intended.     I*  wa? 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      191 

either  unspoken  or  lost.  For  at  that  very  instant  Mr. 
Oakhurst  raised  a  wine-glass  and  dashed  its  contents  into 
Hamilton's  face. 

As  they  faced  each  other  the  men  seemed  to  have 
changed  natures.  Mr.  Oakhurst  was  trembling  with  excite- 
ment, and  the  wine-glass  that  he  returned  to  the  table 
shivered  between  his  fingers.  Mr.  Hamilton  stood  there, 
grayish  white,  erect,  and  dripping.  After  a  pause  he  said 
coldly,  — 

"  So  be  it.  But  remember !  our  quarrel  commences 
here.  If  I  fall  by  your  hand,  you  shall  not  use  it  to  clear 
her  character ;  if  you  fall  by  mine,  you  shall  not  be  called 
a  martyr.  I  am  sorry  it  has  come  to  this,  but  amen  !  —  the 
sooner  now  the  better." 

He  turned  proudly,  dropped  his  lids  over  his  cold  steel- 
blue  eyes,  as  if  sheathing  a  rapier,  bowed,  and  passed  coldly 
out. 

They  met  twelve  hours  later  in  a  little  hollow  two  miles 
from  the  hotel,  on  the  Stockton  road.  As  Mr.  Oakhurst 
received  his  pistol  from  Colonel  Starbottle's  hands  he  said 
to  him  in  a  low  voice,  "  Whatever  turns  up  or  down  I  shall 
not  return  to  the  hotel.  You  will  find  some  directions  in 
my  room.  Go  there"  —  but  bis  voice  suddenly  faltered, 
and  he  turned  his  glistening  eyes  away,  to  his  second's 
intense  astonishment.  "  I  've  been  out  a  dozen  times  with 
Jack  Oakhurst,"  said  Colonel  Starbottle  afterwards,  "  and  I 
never  saw  him  anyways  cut  before.  Blank  me  if  I  did  n't 
think  he  was  losing  his  sand,  till  he  walked  to  position." 

The  two  reports  were  almost  simultaneous.  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst's  right  arm  dropped  suddenly  to  his  side,  and  his 
pistol  would  have  fallen  from  his  paralyzed  fingers,  but  the 
discipline  of  trained  nerve  and  muscle  prevailed,  and  he  kept 
his  grasp  until  he  had  shifted  it  to  the  other  hand,  with- 
out changing  his  position.  Then  there  was  a  silence  that 
seemed  interminable,  a  gathering  of  two  or  three  dark  fig- 


192      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE    OF   MR.    JOHN    OAKHUKST 

ures  where  a  smoke  curl  still  lazily  floated,  and  then  the 
hurried,  husky,  panting  voice  of  Colonel  Starbottle  in  his 
ear,  "  He 's  hit  hard  —  through  the  lungs  —  you  must  run 
for  it !  " 

Jack  turned  his  dark,  questioning  eyes  upon  his  second, 
but  did  not  seem  to  listen  ;  rather  seemed  to  hear  some 
other  voice,  remoter  in  the  distance.  He  hesitated,  and 
then  made  a  step  forward  in  the  direction  of  the  distant 
group.  Then  he  paused  again  as  the  figures  separated,  and 
the  surgeon  came  hastily  toward  him. 

"  He  would  like  to  speak  with  you  a  moment,"  said  the 
man.  "  You  have  little  time  to  lose,  I  know ;  hut,"  he 
added  in  a  lower  voice,  "  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  he  has 
Btill  less." 

A  look  of  despair  so  hopeless  in  its  intensity  swept  over 
Mr.  Oakhurst's  usually  impassive  face  that  the  surgeon 
started.  "  You  are  hit,"  he  said,  glancing  at  Jack's  help- 
less arm. 

"  Nothing  —  a  mere  scratch,"  said  Jack  hastily.  Then  he 
added,  with  a  hitter  laugh,  "I'm  not  in  luck  to-day.  But 
come!  We'll  see  what  he  wants." 

His  long  feverish  stride  outstripped  the  surgeon's,  and  in 
another  moment  he  stood  where  the  dying  man  lay  —  like 
most  dying  men  —  the  one  calm,  composed,  central  figure  of 
an  anxious  group.  Mr.  Oakhurst's  face  was  less  calm  as  he 
dropped  on  one  knee  beside  him  and  took  his  hand.  "  I 
want  to  speak  with  this  gentleman  alone,"  said  Hamilton, 
with  something  of  his  old  imperious  manner,  as  he  turned 
to  those  about  him.  When  they  drew  back,  he  looked  up 
in  Oakhurst's  face. 

"I've  something  to  tell  you,  Jack." 

His  own  face  was  white,  but  not  so  white  as  that  which 
Mr.  Oakhurst  bent  over  him  —  a  face  so  ghastly,  with  haunt- 
ing doubts  and  a  hopeless  presentiment  of  coining  evil,  a 
face  so  piteous  in  its  infinite  weariness  and  envy  of  death, 


PASSAGE   IN    THE   LIFE    OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST      193 

that  the  dying  man  was  touched,  even  in  the  languor  of 
dissolution,  with  a  pang  of  compassion,  and  the  cynical 
smile  faded  from  his  lips. 

"Forgive  me,  Jack,"  he  whispered  more  feebly,  "for 
what  I  have  to  say.  I  don't  say  it  in  anger,  but  only 
because  it  must  be  said.  I  could  not  do  my  duty  to  you  — 
I  could  not  die  contented  until  you  knew  it  all.  It 's  a 
miserable  business  at  best,  all  around.  But  it  can't  be 
helped  now.  Only  I  ought  to  have  fallen  by  Decker's 
pistol  and  not  yours." 

A  flush  like  fire  came  into  Jack's  cheek,  and  he  would 
have  risen,  but  Hamilton  held  him  fast. 

"  Listen  !  in  my  pocket  you  will  find  two  letters.  Take 
them  —  there  !  You  will  know  the  handwriting.  But 
promise  you  will  not  read  them  until  you  are  in  a  place 
of  safety.  Promise  me  !  " 

Jack  did  not  speak,  but  held  the  letters  between  his 
fingers  as  if  they  had  been  burning  coals. 

"  Promise  me,"  said  Hamilton  faintly. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Oakhurst,  dropping  his  friend's  hand 
coldly. 

"  Because,"  said  the  dying  man  with  a  bitter  smile,  — 
"  because  —  when  you  have  read  them  —  you  —  will  —  go 
back  —  to  capture  —  and  death  !  " 

They  were  his  last  words.  He  pressed  Jack's  hand 
faintly.  Then  his  grasp  relaxed,  and  he  fell  back  a  corpse. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  at  night-,  and  Mrs.  Decker 
reclined  languidly  upon  the  sofa  with  a  novel  in  her  hand, 
while  her  husband  discussed  the  politics  of  the  country  in 
the  bar-room  of  the  hotel.  It  was  a  warm  night,  and  the 
French  window  looking  out  upon  a  little  balcony  was  partly 
open.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  foot  upon  the  balcony,  and 
she  raised  her  eyes  from  the  book  with  a  slight  start.  The 
next  moment  the  window  was  hurriedly  thrust  wide  and  a 
man  entered. 


194      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN   OAKHURST 

Mrs.  Decker  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  little  cry  of  alarm. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Jack,  are  you  mad  ?  He  has  only 
gone  for  a  little  while  —  he  may  return  at  any  moment. 
Come  an  hour  later  —  to-morrow  —  any  time  when  I  can  get 
rid  of  him  —  but  go,  now,  dear,  at  once." 

Mr.  Oakhurst  walked  toward  the  door,  bolted  it,  and 
then  faced  her  without  a  word.  His  face  was  haggard,  his 
coat-sleeve  hung  loosely  over  an  arm  that  was  bandaged 
and  bloody. 

Nevertheless,  her  voice  did  not  falter  as  she  turned  again 
toward  him.  "  What  has  happened,  Jack  ?  WThy  are  you 
here  ?  " 

He  opened  his  coat,  and  threw  two  letters  in  her  lap. 

"  To  return  your  lover's  letters  —  to  kill  you  —  and  then 
myself,"  he  said  in  a  voice  so  low  as  to  be  almost 
inaudible. 

Among  the  many  virtues  of  this  admirable  woman  was 
invincible  courage.  She  did  not  faint,  she  did  not  cry  out. 
She  sat  quietly  down  again,  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
and  said  calmly,  — 

"  And  why  should  you  not  ?  " 

Had  she  recoiled,  had  she  shown  any  fear  or  contrition, 
had  she  essayed  an  explanation  or  apology,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
would  have  looked  upon  it  as  an  evidence  of  guilt.  But 
there  is  no  quality  that  courage  recognizes  so  quickly  as 
courage,  there  is  no  condition  that  desperation  bows  before 
but  desperation  ;  and  Mr.  Oakhurst's  power  of  analysis  was 
not  so  keen  as  to  prevent  him  from  confounding  her 
courage  with  a  moral  quality.  Even  in  his  fury  he  could 
not  help  admiring  this  dauntless  invalid. 

"  Why  should  you  not  ? "  she  repeated  with  a  smile. 
"  You  gave  me  life,  health,  arid  happiness,  Jack.  You  gave 
me  your  love.  Why  should  you  not  take  what  you  have 
given  ?  Go  on.  I  am  ready." 

She  held  out  her  hands  with  that  same  infinite  giace  of 


PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.   JOHN   OAKHURST      195 

yielding  with  which  she  had  taken  his  own  on  the  first  day 
of  their  meeting  at  the  hotel.  Jack  raised  his  head,  looked 
at  her  for  one  wild  moment,  dropped  upon  his  knees  beside 
her;  and  raised  the  folds  of  her  dress  to  his  feverish  lips. 
]>ut  she  was  too  clever  not  to  instantly  see  her  victory;  she 
was  too  much  of  a  woman,  with  all  her  cleverness,  to  refrain 
from  pressing  that  victory  home.  At  the  same  moment,  as 
with  the  impulse  of  an  outraged  and  wounded  woman,  she 
rose,  and  with  an  imperious  gesture  pointed  to  the  window. 
Mr.  Oakhurst  rose  in  his  turn,  cast  one  glance  upon  her,  and 
without  another  word  passed  out  of  her  presence  forever. 

When  he  had  gone,  she  closed  the  window  and  bolted 
it,  and  going  to  the  chiinneypiece  placed  the  letters,  one 
by  one,  in  the  flame  of  the  candle  until  they  were  consumed. 
I  would  not  have  the  reader  think  that  during  this  painful 
operation  she  was  unmoved.  Her  hand  trembled  and  — 
not  being  a  brute  —  for  some  minutes  (perhaps  longer)  she 
felt  very  badly,  and  the  corners  of  her  sensitive  mouth  were 
depressed.  When  her  husband  arrived  it  was  with  a 
genuine  joy  that  she  ran  to  him,  and  nestled  against  his 
broad  breast  with  a  feeling  of  security  that  thrilled  the 
honest  fellow  to  the  core. 

"But  I've  heard  dreadful  news  to-night,  Elsie,"  said 
Mr.  Decker,  after  a  few  endearments  were  exchanged. 

"  Don't  tell  me  anything  dreadful,  dear ;  I  'm  not  well 
to-night,"  she  pleaded  sweetly. 

"  But  it 's  about  Mr.  Oakhurst  and  Hamilton." 

"  Please  !  "  Mr.  Decker  could  not  resist  the  petitionary 
grace  of  those  white  hands  and  that  sensitive  mouth,  and 
took  her  to  his  arms.  Suddenly  he  said,  "  What 's  that  ?  " 

He  was  pointing  to  the  bosom  of  her  white  dress. 
Where  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  touched  her  there  was  a  spot 
of  blood. 

It  was  nothing  ;  she  had  slightly  cut  her  hand  in  closing 
the  window  ;  it  shut  so  hard  !  If  Mr.  Decker  had  remem- 


196      PASSAGE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   MR.    JOHN    OAKHURST 

bered  to  close  and  bolt  the  shutter  before  he  went  out,  he 
might  have  saved  her  this.  There  was  such  a  genuine 
irritability  and  force  in  this  remark  that  Mr.  Decker  was 
quite  overcome  by  remorse.  But  Mrs.  Decker  forgave  him 
with  that  graciousness  which  I  have  before  pointed  out  in 
these  pages,  and  with  the  halo  of  that  forgiveness  and 
marital  confidence  still  lingering  above  the  pair,  with  the 
reader's  permission  we  will  leave  them  and  return  to  Mr. 
Oakhurst. 

But  not  for  two  weeks.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he 
walked  into  his  rooms  in  Sacramento,  and  in  his  old  manner 
took  his  seat  at  the  faro-table. 

"  How  's  your  arm,  Jack  ?  "  asked  an  incautious  player. 

There  was  a  smile  followed  the  question,  which,  however, 
ceased  as  Jack  looked  up  quietly  at  the  speaker. 

"  It  bothers  my  dealing  a  little,  but  I  can  shoot  as  well 
with  my  left." 

The  game  was  continued  in  that  decorous  silence  which 
usually  distinguished  the  table  at  which  Mr.  John  Oakhurst 
presided. 


THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 
CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  lights 
were  out  in  Robinson's  Hall,  where  there  had  been  dancing 
and  revelry,  and  the  moon,  riding  high,  painted  the  black 
windows  with  silver.  The  cavalcade  that  an  hour  ago  had 
shocked  the  sedate  pines  with  song  and  laughter  were  all 
dispersed ;  one  enamored  swain  had  ridden  east,  another 
west,  another  north,  another  south,  and  the  object  of  their 
adoration,  left  within  her  bower  at  Chernisal  Ridge,  was 
calmly  going  to  bed. 

I  regret  that  I  am  not  able  to  indicate  the  exact  stage  of 
that  process.  Two  chairs  were  already  filled  with  delicate 
enwrappings  and  white  confusion,  and  the  young  lady  her- 
self, half  hidden  in  the  silky  threads  of  her  yellow  hair,  had 
at  one  time  borne  a  faint  resemblance  to  a  partly  husked 
ear  of  Indian  corn.  But  she  was  now  clothed  in  that  one 
long,  formless  garment  that  makes  all  women  equal,  and 
the  round  shoulders  and  neat  waist  that  an  hour  ago  had 
been  so  fatal  to  the  peace  of  mind  of  Four  Forks  had  utterly 
disappeared.  The  face  above  it  was  very  pretty  ;  the  foot 
below,  albeit  shapely,  was  not  small.  "  The  flowers,  as  a 
general  thing,  don't  raise  their  heads  much  to  look  after 
me,"  she  had  said  with  superb  frankness  to  one  of  her 
lovers. 

The  expression  of  "  The  Rose  "  to-night  was  contentedly 
placid.  She  walked  slowly  to  the  window,  and,  making  the 
smallest  possible  peep-hole  through  the  curtain,  looked  out. 
The  motionless  h'gure  of  a  horseman  still  lingered  on  tht> 


198  THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

road,  with  an  excess  of  devotion  that  only  a  coquette  or  a 
woman  very  much  in  love  could  tolerate.  "  The  Rose  "  at 
that  moment  was  neither,  and  after  a  reasonable  pause 
turned  away,  saying,  quite  audibly,  that  it  was  "  too  ridicu- 
lous for  anything."  As  she  came  back  to  her  dressing-table 
it  was  noticeable  that  she  walked  steadily  and  erect,  without 
that  slight  affectation  of  lameness  common  to  people  with 
whom  bare  feet  are  only  an -episode.  Indeed,  it  was  only 
four  years  ago  that,  without  shoes  or  stockings,  a  long- 
limbed,  colty  girl,  in  a  waistless  calico  gown,  she  had  leaped 
from  the  tail-board  of  her  father's  emigrant  wagon  when 
it  first  drew  up  at  Chemisal  Ridge.  Certain  wild  habits 
of  The  Rose  had  outlived  transplanting  and  cultivation. 

A  knock  at  the  door  surprised  her.  In  another  moment 
she  had  leaped  into  bed,  and,  with  darkly  frowning  eyes, 
from  its  secure  recesses  demanded,  "  Who  's  there  ?  " 

An  apologetic  murmur  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  was 
the  response. 

"  Why,  father,  is  that  you  ?  " 

There  were  further  murmurs,  affirmative,  deprecatory, 
and  persistent. 

"  Wait,"  said  The  Rose.  She  got  up,  unlocked  the  door, 
leaped  nimbly  into  bed  again,  and  said,  "  Come." 

The  door  opened  timidly.  The  broad,  stooping  shoulders 
and  grizzled  head  of  a  man  past  the  middle  age  appeared ; 
after  a  moment's  hesitation  a  pair  of  large,  diffident  feet, 
shod  with  canvas  slippers,  concluded  to  follow.  When  the 
apparition  was  complete  it  closed  the  door  softly,  and  stood 
there  —  a  very  shy  ghost  indeed,  with  apparently  more  than 
the  usual  spiritual  indisposition  to  begin  a  conversation. 
The  Rose  resented  this  impatiently,  though  I  fear  not  alto- 
gether intelligibly :  — 

"  Do,  father,  I  declare  !  " 

"You  was  abed,  Jinny,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky  slowly, 
glancing  with  a  singular  mixture  of  masculine  awe  and 


THE   ROSE   OF  TUOLUMNE  199 

paternal  pride  upon  the  two  chairs  and  their  contents. 
"  You  was  abed  and  ondressed." 

"  I  was." 

"  Surely,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky,  seating  himself  on  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  bed,  and  painfully  tucking  his  feet 
away  under  it,  —  "  surely."  After  a  pause  he  rubbed  a 
short,  thick,  stumpy  beard,  that  bore  a  general  resemblance 
to  a  badly  worn  blacking-brush,  with  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
and  went  on,  "  You  had  a  good  time,  Jinny  ?" 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  They  was  all  there  ?  " 

"  Yes ;   Ranee  and  York  and  Eyder  arid  Jack." 

"  And  Jack  !  "  Mr.  M'Closky  endeavored  to  throw  an 
expression  of  arch  inquiry  into  his  small,  tremulous  eyes,  but 
meeting  the  unabashed,  widely  opened  lid  of  his  daughter, 
he  winked  rapidly  and  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"  Yes,  Jack  was  there,"  said  Jinny,  without  change  of 
color,  or  the  least  self-consciousness  in  her  great  gray  eyes, 
"and  he  came  home  with  me."  She  paused  a  moment, 
locking  her  two  hands  under  her  head,  and  assuming  a 
more  comfortable  position  on  the  pillow.  "  He  asked  me 
that  same  question  again,  father,  and  I  said,  (  Yes.'  It 's  to 
be  —  soon.  We  're  going  to  live  at  Four  Forks,  in  his  own 
house,  and  next  winter  we  're  going  to  Sacramento.  I 
suppose  it 's  all  right,  father,  eh  ?  "  She  emphasized  the 
question  with  a  slight  kick  through  the  bedclothes  as  the 
parental  M'Closky  had  fallen  into  an  abstract  reverie. 

"  Yes,  surely,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky,  recovering  himself 
with  some  confusion.  After  a  pause  he  looked  down  at  the 
bedclothes,  and,  patting  them  tenderly,  continued.  "You 
could  n't  have  done  better,  Jinny.  They  is  n't  a  girl  in  Tuo- 
lumne  ez  could  strike  it  ez  rich  ez  you  hev  —  even  if  they 
got  the  chance."  He  paused  again  and  then  said,  "  Jinny  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  You  'se  in  bed  and  ondressed  ?  " 

"Yes." 


200  THE   HOSE    OF   TUOLUMNE 

"  You  could  n't,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky,  glancing  hopelessly 
at  the  two  chairs  and  slowly  rubbing  his  chin,  — "  you 
could  n't  dress  yourself  again,  could  yer  ?  " 

"  Why,  father  ?" 

"  Kinder  get  yourself  into  them  things  again  ?  "  he 
added  hastily.  "  Not  all  of  'em,  you  know,  but  some  of 
?em.  Not  if  I  helped  you  ?  —  sorter  stood  by  and  lent  a 
hand  now  and  then  with  a  strap  or  a  buckle,  or  a  necktie 
or  a  shoe-string,"  he  continued,  still  looking  at  the  chairs, 
antl  evidently  trying  to  boldly  familiarize  himself  with  their 
contents. 

"  Are  you  crazy,  father  ?  "  demanded  Jinny,  suddenly 
sitting  up  with  a  portentous  switch  of  her  yellow  mane. 
Mr.  M'Closky  rubbed  one  side  of  his  beard,  which  already 
had  the  appearance  of  having  been  quite  worn  away  by  that 
process,  and  faintly  dodged  the  question. 

"  Jinny."  he  said,  tenderly  stroking  the  bedclothes  as  he 
spoke,  "  this  yer  's  what 's  the  matter.  Thar  is  a  stranger 
downstairs  —  a  stranger  to  you,  lovey,  but  a  man  ez  I  've 
knowed  a  long  time.  He  's  been  here  about  an  hour,  and 
he  '11  be  here  ontil  fower  o'clock,  when  the  up  stage  passes. 
Now  I  wants  ye,  Jinny,  dear,  to  get  up  and  come  down- 
stairs and  kinder  help  me  pass  the  time  with  him.  It 's  no 
use,  Jinny,"  he  went  on,  gently  raising  his  hand  to  depre- 
cate any  interruption,  —  "  it 's  no  use,  he  won't  go  to  bed  ! 
He  won't  play  keerds  ;  whiskey  don't  take  no  effect  on  him. 
Ever  since  I  knowed  him  he  was  the  most  onsatisfactory 
critter  to  hev  round  "  — 

"  What  do  you  have  him  round  for,  then  ?  "  interrupted 
Miss  Jinny  sharply. 

Mr.  M'Closky's  eyes  fell.  "  Ef  he  hed  n't  kern  out  of 
his  way  to-night  to  do  me  a  good  turn,  I  would  n't  ask  ye, 
Jinny.  I  would  n't,  so  help  me  !  But  I  thought  ez  I 
couldn't  do  anything  with  him,  you  might  come  down  and 
sorter  fetch  him,  Jinny,  as  you  did  the  others." 


THE    ROSE    OF   TUOLUMNE  201 

Miss  Jinny  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders. 

"  Is  he  old  or  young  ?  " 

"  He  's  young  enough,  Jinny,  but  he  knows  a  power  of 
things." 

"  What  does  he  do  ?  " 

"Not  much,  I  reckon.  He's  got  money  in  the  mill  at 
Four  Forks.  He  travels  round  a  good  deal.  I've  heard, 
Jinny,  that  he's  a  poet  —  writes  them  rhymes,  you  know." 
Mr.  M'Closky  here  appealed  submissively,  but  directly  to  his 
daughter.  He  remembered  that  she  had  frequently  been 
in  receipt  of  printed  elegiac  couplets  known  as  "  mottoes," 
containing  inclosures  equally  saccharine. 

Miss  Jinny  slightly  curled  her  pretty  lip.  She  had  that 
fine  contempt  for  the  illusions  of  fancy  which  belongs  to 
the  perfectly  healthy  young  animal. 

•  "Not,"  continued  Mr.  M'Closky,  rubbing  his  head  re- 
flectively, —  "  not  ez  I  'd  advise  ye,  Jinny,  to  say  anything 
to  him  about  poetry.  It  ain't  twenty  minutes  ago  ez  /  did. 
I  set  the  whiskey  afore  him  in  the  parlor.  I  wound  up  the 
music-box  and  set  it  goin'.  Then  I  sez  to  him,  sociable- 
like  and  free,  '  Jest  consider  yourself  in  your  own  house, 
and  repeat  what  you  allow  to  be  your  finest  production,' 
—  and  he  raged.  That  man,  Jinny,  jest  raged.  Thar  's  no 
end  of  the  names  he  called  me.  You  see,  Jinny,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  M'Closky  apologetically,  "he's  known  me  a 
long  time." 

But  his  daughter  had  already  dismissed  the  question  with 
her  usual  directness.  "I'll  be  down  in  a  few  moments, 
father,"  she  said  after  a  pause,  "  but  don't  say  anything  to 
him  about  it  —  don't  say  I  was  abed." 

Mr.  M'Closky's  face  beamed.  "  You  was  allers  a  good 
girl,  Jinny,"  he  said,  dropping  on  one  knee  the  better  to 
imprint  a  respectful  kiss  on  her  forehead.  But  Jinny 
caught  him  by  the  wrists  and  for  a  moment  held  him  cap- 
tive. "  Father,"  said  she,  trying  to  fix  his  shy  eyes  with 


202  THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

the  clear,  steady  glance  of  her  own,  "all  the  girls  that 
were  there  to-night  had  some  one  with  them.  Maine  Kob- 
inson  had  her  aunt,  Lucy  Kance  had  her  mother,  Kate  Pier- 
son  had  her  sister  —  all  except  me  had  some  other  woman. 
Father,  dear,"  —  her  lip  trembled  just  a  little,  —  "I  wish 
mother  hadn't  died  when  I  was  so  small.  I  wish  there 
was  some  other  woman  in  the  family  besides  me.  I  ain't 
lonely  with  you,  father,  dear ;  but  if  there  was  only  some 
one,  you  know,  when  the  time  comes  for  John  and  me  "  — 

Her  voice  here  suddenly  gave  out,  but  not  her  brave 
eyes,  that  were  still  fixed  earnestly  upon  his  face.  Mr. 
M'Closky,  apparently  tracing  out  a  pattern  on  the  bed-quilt, 
essayed  words  of  comfort. 

"There  ain't  one  of  them  gals  ez  you've  named,  Jinny, 
ez  could  do  what  you  've  done  with  a  whole  Noah's  ark  of 
relations  at  their  backs  !  Thar  ain't  one  ez  would  n't  sacri-. 
fice  her  nearest  relation  to  make  the  strike  that  you  hev. 
Ez  to  mothers,  maybe,  my  dear,  you  're  doin'  better  without 
one."  He  rose  suddenly,  and  walked  toward  the  door. 
When  he  reached  it  he  turned,  and  in  his  old  deprecating 
manner,  said,  "  Don't  be  long,  Jinny,"  smiled,  and  van- 
ished from  the  head  downward,  his  canvas  slippers  asserting 
themselves  resolutely  to  the  last. 

When  Mr.  M'Closky  reached  his  parlor  again  his  trouble- 
some guest  was  not  there.  The  decanter  stood  on  the  table 
untouched,  three  or  four  books  lay  upon  the  floor,  a  number 
of  photographic  views  of  the  Sierras  were  scattered  over 
the  sofa  ;  two  sofa  pillows,  a  newspaper,  and  a  Mexican 
blanket  lay  on  the  carpet,  as  if  the  late  occupant  of 
the  room  had  tried  to  read  in  a  recumbent  position.  A 
French  window,  opening  upon  a  veranda,  which  never 
before  in  the  history  of  the  house  had  been  unfastened, 
now  betrayed  by  its  waving  lace  curtain  the  way  that  the 
fugitive  had  escaped.  Mr.  M'Closky  heaved  a  sigh  of 
despair ;  he  looked  at  the  gorgeous  carpet  purchased  in 


THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  203 

(Sacramento  at  a  fabulous  price,  at  the  crimson  satin  and 
rosewood  furniture  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  Tuo- 
lumne,  at  the  massively  framed  pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
looked  beyond  it,  through  the  open  window,  to  the  reckless 
man  who,  fleeing  these  sybaritic  allurements,  was  smoking 
a  cigar  upon  the  moonlit  road.  This  room,  which  had  sc 
often  awed  the  youth  of  Tuolumne  into  filial  respect,  was 
evidently  a  failure.  It  remained  to  be  seen  if  The  Rose 
herself  had  lost  her  fragrance.  "  I  reckon  Jinny  will  fetch 
him  yet,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky,  with  parental  faith. 

He  stepped  from  the  window  upon  the  veranda.  But  he 
had  scarcely  done  this  before  his  figure  was  detected  by  the 
stranger,  who  at  once  crossed  the  road.  When  within  a 
few  feet  of  M'Closky  he  stopped.  "  You  persistent  old 
plantigrade,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  audible  only  to  the 
person  addressed,  and  a  face  full  of  affected  anxiety,  "  why 
don't  you  go  to  bed  ?  Did  n't  I  tell  you  to  go  and  leave 
me  here  alone  ?  In  the  name  of  all  that 's  idiotic  and 
imbecile,  why  do  you  continue  to  shuffle  about  here  ?  Or 
are  you  trying  to  drive  me  crazy  with  your  presence,  as  you 
have  with  that  wretched  music-box  that  I've  just  dropped' 
under  yonder  tree  ?  It 's  an  hour  and  a  half  yet  before  the 
stage  passes  ;  do  you  think,  do  you  imagine  for  a  single 
moment,  that  I  can  tolerate  you  until  then  —  eh  ?  Why 
don't  you  speak  ?  Are  you  asleep  ?  You  don't  mean  to 
say  that  you  have  the  audacity  to  add  somnambulism  to 
your  other  weaknesses  ;  you  're  not  low  enough  to  repeat 
yourself  under  any  such  weak  pretext  as  that  —  eh  ?  " 

A  fit  of  nervous  coughing  ended  this  extraordinary  exor- 
dium, and  half  sitting,  half  leaning  against  the  veranda, 
Mr.  M'Closky's  guest  turned  his  face,  and  part  of  a  slight, 
elegant  figure,  towards  his  host.  The  lower  portion  of  this 
upturned  face  wore  an  habitual  expression  of  fastidious  dis- 
content, with  an  occasional  line  of  physical  suffering.  But 
the  brow  above  was  frank  and  critical,  and  a  pair  of  dark 


204  THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

mirthful  eyes  sat  in  playful  judgment  over  the  supersensitive 
mouth  and  its  suggestion. 

"  I  allowed  to  go  to  bed,  Ridgeway,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky 
meekly,  "  but  my  girl  Jinny  's  jist  got  back  from  a  little  tear 
up  at  Robinson's,  and  ain't  inclined  to  turn  in  yet.  You 
know  what  girls  is.  So  I  thought  we  three  would  jist  have 
a  social  chat  together  to  pass  away  the  time." 

"  You  mendacious  ojd  hypocrite !  she  got  back  an  hour 
ago,"  said  Ridgeway,  "  as  that  savage-looking  escort  of  hers, 
who  has  been  haunting  the  house  ever  since,  can  testify. 
My  belief  is,  that,  like  an  enterprising  idiot  as  you  are, 
you  've  dragged  that  girl  out  of  her  bed  that  we  might 
mutually  bore  each  other." 

Mr.  M'Closky  was  too  much  stunned  by  this  evidence 
of  Ridgeway's  apparently  superhuman  penetration  to  reply. 
After  enjoying  his  host's  confusion  for  a  moment  with  his 
eyes,  Ridgeway's  mouth  asked  grimly,  — 

"  And  who  is  this  girl,  anyway  ?  " 

"Nancy's." 

"  Your  wife's  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  look  yar,  Ridgeway,"  said  M'Closky,  laying 
one  hand  imploringly  on  Ridgeway's  sleeve,  "  not  a  word 
about  her  to  Jinny.  She  thinks  her  mother  's  dead  —  died 
in  Missouri.  Eh  !  " 

Ridgeway  nearly  rolled  from  the  veranda  in  an  excess  of 
rage.  "  Good  God  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have 
been  concealing  from  her  a  fact  that  any  day,  any  moment, 
may  come  to  her  ears  ?  That  you  've  been  letting  her  grow 
up  in  ignorance  of  something  that  by  this  time  she  might 
have  outgrown  and  forgotten  ?  That  you  have  been,  like  a 
besotted  old  ass,  all  these  years  slowly  forging  a  thunder- 
bolt that  any  one  may  crush  her  with  ?  That  " —  but  here 
Ridgeway's  cough  took  possession  of  his  voice,  and  even  put 
a  moisture  into  his  dark  eyes,  as  he  looked  at  M'Closky's 
aiml*  ss  hand  feebly  employed  upon  his  beard. 


THE   ROSE    OF   TUOLUMNE  205 

"  But,"  said  M'Closky,  "  look,  how  she  'a  done.  She 's 
held  her  head  as  high  as  any  of  'em.  She  's  to  be  married 
in  a  month  to  the  richest  man  in  the  county,  and,"  he  added 
cunningly,  "  Jack  Ashe  ain't  the  kind  o'  man  to  sit  by 
and  hear  anything  said  of  his  wife  or  her  relations,  you 
bet.  But  hush  —  that 's  her  foot  on  the  stairs.  She  's  cum- 
min'." 

She  came.  I  don't  think  the  French  window  ever  held  a 
finer  view  than  when  she  put  aside  the  curtains  and  stepped 
out.  She  had  dressed  herself  simply  and  hurriedly,  but  with 
a  woman's  knowledge  of  her  best  points,  so  that  you  got 
the  long  curves  of  her  shapely  limbs,  the  shorter  curves 
of  her  round  waist  and  shoulders,  the  long  sweep  of  her 
yellow  braids,  the  light  of  her  gray  eyes,  and  even  the 
delicate  rose  of  her  complexion,  without  knowing  how  it 
was  delivered  to  you. 

The  introduction  by  Mr.  M'Closky  was  brief.  When 
Ridgeway  had  got  over  the  fact  that  it  was  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  that  the  cheek  of  this  Tuolumne  goddess 
nearest  him  was  as  dewy  and  fresh  as  an  infant's,  —  that  she 
looked  like  Marguerite,  without  probably  ever  having  heard 
of  Goethe's  heroine,  —  he  talked,  I  dare  say,  very  sensibly , 
When  Miss  Jinny,  who  from  her  childhood  had  been  brought 
up  among  the  sons  of  Anak,  and  who  was  accustomed  to 
have  a  supremacy  of  our  noble  sex  presented  to  her  as  a 
physical  fact,  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  a  new  and 
strange  power,  in  the  slight  and  elegant  figure  beside  her, 
she  was  at  first  frightened  and  cold.  But  finding  that 
this  power,  against  which  the  weapons  of  her  own  physical 
charms  were  of  no  avail,  was  a  kindly  one,  albeit  general, 
she  fell  to  worshiping  it,  after  the  fashion  of  woman,  and 
.casting  before  it  the  fetiches  and  other  idols  of  her  youth. 
She  even  confessed  to  it.  So  that  in  half  an  hour  Ridge- 
way  was  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  connected  with  her 
life,  and  a  great  many,  I  fear,  of  her  fancies  —  except  one- 


206  THE   ROSE    OF   TUOLUMNE 

When  Mr.  M'Closky  found  the  young  people  thus  amicably 
disposed,  he  calmly  went  to  sleep. 

It  was  a  pleasant  time  to  each.  To  Miss  Jinny  it  had 
the  charm  of  novelty,  and  she  abandoned  herself  to  it  for 
that  reason  much  more  freely  and  innocently  than  her  com- 
panion, who  knew  something  more  of  the  inevitable  logic 
of  the  position.  I  do  not  think,  however,  he  had  any 
intention  of  love-making.  I  do  not  think  he  was  at  all 
conscious  of  being  in  the  attitude.  I  am  quite  positive 
he  would  have  shrunk  from  the  suggestion  of  disloyalty 
to  the  one  woman  whom  he  admitted  to  himself  he  loved. 
But,  like  most  poets,  he  was  much  more  true  to  an  idea 
than  a  fact,  and,  having  a  very  lofty  conception  of  woman- 
hood, with  a  very  sanguine  nature,  he  saw  in  each  new  face 
the  possibilities  of  a  realization  of  his  ideal.  It  was,  per- 
haps, an  unfortunate  thing  for  the  women,  particularly  as 
he  brought  to  each  trial  a  surprising  freshness  which  was 
very  deceptive,  and  quite  distinct  from  the  blase  familiarity 
of  the  man  of  gallantry.  It  was  this  perennial  virginity  of 
the  affections  that  most  endeared  him  to  the  best  women, 
who  were  prone  to  exercise  towards  him  a  chivalrous  pro- 
tection, —  as  of  one  likely  to  go  astray  unless  looked  after, 
—  and  indulged  in  the  dangerous  combination  of  sentiment 
with  the  highest  maternal  instincts.  It  was  this  quality 
which  caused  Jinny  to  recognize  in  him  a  certain  boyishness 
that  required  her  womanly  care,  and  even  induced  her  to 
offer  to  accompany  him  to  the  cross-roads  when  the  time  of 
his  departure  arrived.  With  her  superior  knowledge  of 
woodcraft  and  the  locality,  she  would  have  kept  him  from 
being  lost.  I  wot  not  but  that  she  would  have  protected 
him  from  bears  or  wolves,  but  chiefly,  I  think,  from  the 
feline  fascinations  of  Mame  Eobinson  and  Lucy  Ranee, 
who  might  be  lying  in  wait  for  this  tender  young  poet. 
Nor  did  she  cease  to  be  thankful  tbat  Providence  had,  so  to 
speak,  delivered  him  as  a  trust  into  her  Lands. 


THE   HOSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  207 

It  was  a  lovely  night.  The  moon  swung  low  and 
languished  softly  on  the  snowy  ridge  beyond.  There  were 
quaint  odors  in  the  still  air,  and  a  strange  incense  from  the 
woods  perfumed  their  young  blood  and  seemed  to  swoon 
in  their  pulses.  Small  wonder  that  they  lingered  on  the 
white  road,  that  their  feet  climbed  unwillingly  the  little 
hill  where  they  were  to  part,  and  that  when  they  at  last 
reached  it,  even  the  saving  grace  of  speech  seemed  to  have 
forsaken  them. 

For  there  they  stood,  alone.  There  was  no  sound  nor 
motion  in  earth,  or  woods,  or  heaven.  They  might  have 
been  the  one  man  and  woman  for  whom  this  goodly  earth 
that  lay  at  their  feet,  rimmed  with  the  deepest  azure,  was 
created.  And  seeing  this,  they  turned  towards  each  other 
with  a  sudden  instinct,  and  their  hands  met,  and  then  their 
lips  in  one  long  kiss. 

And  then  out  of  the  mysterious  distance  came  the  sound 
of  voices  and  the  sharp  clatter  of  hoofs  and  wheels,  and 
Jinny  slid  away  —  a  white  moonbeam  —  from  the  hill. 
For  a  moment  she  glimmered  through  the  trees,  and  then, 
reaching  the  house,  passed  her  sleeping  father  on  the 
veranda,  and,  darting  into  her  bedroom,  locked  the  door, 
threw  open  the  window,  and,  falling  on  her  knees  beside  it, 
leaned  her  hot  cheeks  upon  her  hands  and  listened.  In  a 
few  moments  she  was  rewarded  by  the  sharp  clatter  of  hoofs 
on  the  stony  road,  but  it  was  only  a  horseman,  whose  dark 
figure  was  swiftly  lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  lower  road. 
At  another  time  she  might  have  recognized  the  man,  but 
her  eyes  and  ears  were  now  all  intent  on  something  else. 
It  came  presently,  with  dancing  lights,  a  musical  rattle  of 
harness,  a  cadence  of  hoof-beats,  that  set  her  heart  to  beat- 
ing in  unison,  and  was  gone.  A  sudden  sense  of  loneliness 
came  over  her,  and  tears  gathered  in  her  sweet  eyes. 

She  arose  and  looked  around  her.  There  was  the  little 
led  the  dressing-table,  the  roses  that  she  had  worn  last 


208  THE    ROSE   OF    TUOLUMNE 

night,  still  fresh  and  blooming  in  the  littla  vase.  Every- 
thing was  there,  but  everything  looked  strange ;  the  roses 
should  have  been  withered,  for  the  party  seemed  so  long 
ago  ;  she  could  hardly  remember  when  she  had  worn  this 
dress  that  lay  upon  the  chair.  So  she  came  back  to  the 
window  and  sank  down  beside  it,  with  her  cheek,  a  trifle 
paler,  leaning  on  her  hand,  and  her  long  braids  reaching  to 
the  floor.  The  stars  paled  slowly,  like  her  cheek,  yet  with 
eyes  that  saw  not  she  still  looked  from  her  window  for  the 
coining  dawn. 

It  came,  with  violet  deepening  into  purple,  with  purple 
flushing  into  rose,  with  rose  shining  into  silver  and  glowing 
into  gold.  The  straggling  line  of  black  picket  fence  below, 
that  had  faded  away  with  the  stars,  came  back  with  the  sun. 
What  was  that  object  moving  by  the  fence  'f  Jinny  raised 
her  head  and  looked  intently.  It  was  a  man  endeavoring 
to  climb  the  pickets,  and  falling  backward  with  each  attempt. 
Suddenly  she  started  to  her  feet,  as  if  the  rosy  flushes  of 
the  dawn  had  crimsoned  her  from  forehead  to  shoulders ; 
;hen  she  stood,  white  as  the  wall,  with  her  hands  clasped 
Upon  her  bosom.  Then,  with  a  single  bound  she  reached 
the  door,  and,  with  flying  braids  and  fluttering  skirt,  sprang 
down  the  stairs  and  out  in  the  garden  walk.  When  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  fence  she  uttered  a  cry  —  the  first  she  had 
^iven  —  the  cry  of  a  mother  over  her  stricken  babe,  of  a 
tigress  over  her  mangled  cub,  and  in  another  moment  she 
had  leaped  the  fence  and  knelt  beside  Eidgeway,  with  his 
fainting  head  upon  her  breast. 

"  My  boy  —  my  poor,  poor  boy  !  who  has  done  this  ?  " 

Who,  indeed  ?  His  clothes  were  covered  with  dust,  his 
*  aistcoat  was  torn  open  ;  and  his  handkerchief,  wet  with 
the  blood  it  could  not  stanch,  fell  from  a  cruel  stab  beneath 
his  shoulder. 

"Ridgeway! — my  poor  boy  —  tell  me  what  has  hap 
£,ened." 


THE   KOSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  209 

Eidgeway  slowly  opened  his  heavy,  blue-veined  lids  and 
gazed  upon  her.  Presently  a  gleam  of  mischief  came  into 
his  dark  eyes,  a  smile  stole  over  his  lips  as  he  whispered 
slowly,  — 

"It  —  was  —  your  kiss  —  did  it  —  Jinny,  dear  !  I  had 
forgotten  —  how  high-priced  —  the  article  was  here.  Never 
mind,  Jinny  !  " — he  feebly  raised  her  hand  to  his  white 
lips  —  "  it  was  —  worth  it,"  and  fainted  away. 

Jinny  started  to  her  feet  and  looked  wildly  around  her. 
Then,  with  a  sudden  resolution,  she  stooped  over  the  insen- 
sible man,  and,  with  one  strong  effort,  lifted  him  in  her 
arms  as  if  he  had  been  a  child.  When  her  father,  a  moment 
later,  rubbed  his  eyes  and  awoke  from  his  sleep  upon  the 
veranda,  it  was  to  see  a  goddess,  erect  and  triumphant, 
striding  toward  the  house,  with  the  helpless  body  of  a  man 
lying  across  that  breast  where  man  had  never  lain  before,  — 
a  goddess  at  whose  imperious  mandate  he  arose  and  cast 
open  the  doors  before  her.  And  then  when  she  had  laid 
her  unconscious  burden  on  the  sofa,  the  goddess  fled,  and 
a  woman,  helpless  and  trembling,  stood  before  him, — a 
woman  that  cried  out  that  she  had  "  killed  him,"  that  she 
was  "  wicked !  wicked  ! "  and  that,  even  saying  so,  stag- 
gered and  fell  beside  her  late  burden.  And  all  that  Mr, 
M'Closky  could  do  was  to  feebly  rub  his  beard,  and  say 
to  himself,  vaguely  and  incoherently,  that  "  Jinny  had 
fetched  him." 

CHAPTER   II 

Before  noon  the  next  day  it  was  generally  believed 
throughout  Four  Forks  that  Ridgeway  Dent  had  been  at- 
tacked and  wounded  at  Chemisal  Ridge  by  a  highwayman, 
who  fled  on  the  approach  of  the  Wingdam  coach.  It  is  to 
be  presumed  that  this  statement  met  with  Ridgeway's  ap- 
proval, as  he  did  not  contradict  it,  nor  supplement  it  with 


210  THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

any  details.  His  wound  was  severe,  but  not  dangerous. 
After  the  first  excitement  had  subsided,  there  was,  I  think, 
a  prevailing  impression,  common  to  the  provincial  mind, 
that  his  misfortune  was  the  result  of  the  defective  moral 
quality  of  his  being  a  stranger,  and  was  in  a  vague  port 
of  a  way  a  warning  to  others  and  a  lesson  to  him.  "  Did 
you  hear  how  that  San  Francisco  feller  was  took  down  the 
other  night  ?  "  was  the  average  tone  of  introductory  remark. 
Indeed,  there  was  a  general  suggestion  that  Eidgeway's 
presence  was  one  that  no  self-respecting,  high-minded  high- 
wayman, honorably  conservative  of  the  best  interests  of 
Tuolumne  County,  could  for  a  moment  tolerate. 

Except  for  the  few  words  spoken  on  that  eventful  morn- 
ing, Eidgeway  was  reticent  of  the  past.  When  Jinny  strove 
to  gather  some  details  of  the  affray  that  might  offer  a  clue 
to  his  unknown  assailant,  a  subtle  twinkle  in  his  brown 
eyes  was  the  only  response.  When  Mr.  M'Closky  attempted 
the  same  process,  the  young  gentleman  threw  abusive  epi- 
thets, and  eventually  slippers,  teaspoons,  and  other  lighter 
articles  within  the  reach  of  an  invalid,  at  the  head  of  his 
questioner.  "  I  think  he  's  coming  round,  Jinny,"  said  Mr.  • 
M'Closky ;  "  he  laid  for  me  this  morning  with  a  candlestick." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Miss  Jinny,  having  sworn  her 
father  to  secrecy  regarding  the  manner  in  which  Eidgeway 
had  been  carried  into  the  house,  conceived  the  idea  of 
addressing  the  young  man  as  "  Mr.  Dent,"  and  of  apologia 
ing  for  intruding  whenever  she  entered  the  room  in  the 
discharge  of  her  household  duties.  It  was  about  this  time 
that  she  became  more  rigidly  conscientious  to  those  duties, 
and  less  general  in  her  attentions ;  it  was  at  this  time  that 
the  quality  of  the  invalid's  diet  improved,  and  that  she  con- 
sulted him  less  frequently  about  it.  It  was  about  this  time 
that  she  began  to  see  more  company,  that  the  house  was 
greatly  frequented  by  her  former  admirers,  with  whom  she  • 
rode,  walked,  and  danced.  It  was  at  about  this  time,  also, 


THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  211 

and  when  Ridgeway  was  able  to  be  brought  out  on  the 
veranda  in  a  chair,  that,  with  great  archness  of  manner,  she 
introduced  to  him  Miss  Lucy  Ashe,  the  sister  of  her  be- 
trothed —  a  flashing  brunette  and  terrible  heart-breaker  of 
Four  Forks.  And  in  the  midst  of  this  gayety  she  concluded 
that  she  would  spend  a  week  with  the  Robinsons,  to  whom 
she  owed  a  visit.  She  enjoyed  herself  greatly  there,  so 
much,  indeed,  that  she  became  quite  hollow-eyed,  the  result, 
as  she  explained  to  her  father,  of  a  too  frequent  indulgence 
in  festivity.  "  You  see,  father,  I  won't  have  many  chances 
after  John  and  I  are  married,  —  you  know  how  queer  he  is, 
—  and  I  must  make  the  most  of  my  time,"  and  she  laughed 
an  odd  little  laugh,  which  had  lately  become  habitual  to  her. 
"  And  how  is  Mr.  Dent  getting  on  ?"  Her  father  replied 
that  he  was  getting  on  very  well  indeed,  so  well,  in  fact, 
that  he  was  able  to  leave  for  San  Francisco  two  days  ago. 
"  He  wanted  to  be  remembered  to  you,  Jinny  —  '  remem- 
bered kindly,'  —  yes,  they  is  the  very  words  he  used,"  said 
Mr.  M'Closky,  looking  down  and  consulting  one  of  his  large 
sho.es  for  corroboration.  Miss  Jinny  was  glad  to  hear  that 
he  was  so  much  better.  Miss  Jinny  could  not  imagine 
anything  that  pleased  her  more  than  to  know  that  he  was  so 
strong  as  to  be  able  to  rejoin  his  friends  again,  who  must 
love  him  so  much  and  be  so  anxious  about  him.  Her  father 
thought  she  would  be  pleased,  and  now  that  he  was  gone 
there  was  really  no  necessity  for  her  to  hurry  back.  Miss 
Jinny,  in  a  high,  metallic  voice,  did  not  know  that  she  had 
expressed  any  desire  to  stay  ;  still  if  her  presence  had  be- 
come distasteful  at  home  —  if  her  own  father  was  desirous 
of  getting  rid  of  her  —  if,  when  she  was  so  soon  to  leave  his 
roof  forever,  he  still  begrudged  her  those  few  days  remain- 
ing—  if — -  "My  God,  Jinny,  so  help  me!"  said  Mr. 
M'Closky,  clutching  despairingly  at  his  beard ;  "  I  did  n't 
go  for  to  say  anything  of  the  kind.  I  thought  that  you  "  — • 
"  Never  mind,  father,"  interrupted  Jinny  magnanimously. 


212  THE   ROSE    OF   TUOLUMNE 

"  you  misunderstood  me ;  of  course  you  did,  you  could  n't 
help  it  —  you're  a  MAN!  "  Mr.  M'Closky,  sorely  crushed, 
would  have  vaguely  protested,  but  his  daughter,  having 
relieved  herself,  after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  with  a  mental 
personal  application  of  an  abstract  statement,  forgave  him 
with  a  kiss. 

Nevertheless,  for  two  or  three  days  after  her  return,  Mr. 
M'Closky  followed  his  daughter  about  the  house  with  yearn- 
ing eyes,  and  occasionally  with  timid,  diffident  feet.  Some- 
times he  came  upon  her  suddenly  at  her  household  tasks 
with  an  excuse  so  palpably  false,  and  a  careless  manner  so 
outrageously  studied,  that  she  was  fain  to  be  embarrassed 
for  him.  Later  he  took  to  rambling  about  the  house  at 
night,  and  was  often  seen  noiselessly  passing  and  repassing 
through  the  hall  after  she  had  retired.  On  one  occasion  he 
was  surprised  first  by  sleep  and  then  by  the  early  rising 
Jinny  as  he  lay  on  the  rug  outside  her  chamber  door. 
"  You  treat  me  like  a  child,  father,"  said  Jinny.  "  I 
thought,  Jinny,"  said  the  father  apologetically,  —  "I  thought 
I  heard  sounds  as  if  you  was  takin'  on  inside,  and  listenin' 
I  fell  asleep."  "  You  dear,  old,  simple-minded  baby," 
said  Jinny,  looking  past  her  father's  eyes,  and  lifting  his 
grizzled  locks  one  by  one  with  meditative  fingers ;  "  what 
should  I  be  takin'  on  for  ?  Look  how  much  taller  I  am 
than  you,"  she  said,  suddenly  lifting  herself  up  tp  the 
extreme  of  her  superb  figure.  Then  rubbing  his  head 
rapidly  with  both  hands,  as  if  she  were  anointing  his  hair 
with  some  rare  unguent,  she  patted  him  on  the  back  and 
returned  to  her  room.  The  result  of  this  and  one  or  two 
other  equally  sympathetic  interviews  was  to  produce  a 
change  in  Mr.  M'Closky's  manner,  which  was,  if  possible, 
still  more  discomposing.  He  grew  unjustifiably  hilarious, 
cracked  jokes  with  the  servants,  and  repeated  to  Jinny 
humorous  stories,  with  the  attitude  of  facctiousness  carefully 
preserved  throughout  the  entire  narration,  and  the  point 


THE   ROSE   OF   TTJOLUMNE  213 

utterly  ignored  and  forgotten.  Certain  incidents  reminded 
him  of  funny  things,  which  invariably  turned  out  to  have 
not  the  slightest  relevancy  or  application.  He  occasionally 
brought  home  with  him  practical  humorists,  with  a  san- 
guine hope  of  setting  them  going,  like  the  music-box,  for 
his  daughter's  edification.  He  essayed  the  singing  of  melo- 
dies with  great  freedom  of  style  and  singular  limitation  of 
note.  He  sang  "  Come,  Haste  to  the  Wedding,  ye  Lasses 
and  Maidens,"  of  which  he  knew  a  single  line,  and  that 
incorrectly,  as  being  peculiarly  apt  and  appropriate.  Yet 
away  from  the  house  and  his  daughter's  presence  he  was 
silent  and  distraught.  His  absence  of  mind  was  particu- 
larly noted  by  his  workmen  at  the  Empire  Quartz  Mill. 
"  Ef  the  old  man  don't  look  out  and  wake  up,"  said  his 
foreman,  "  he  '11  hev  them  feet  of  his  yet  under  the  stamps. 
When  he  ain't  givin'  his  mind  to  'em,  they  is  altogether 
too  promiskuss." 

A  few  nights  later,  Miss  Jinny  recognized  her  father's 
hand  in  a  timid  tap  at  the  door.  She  opened  it,  and  he 
stood  before  her,  with  a  valise  in  his  hand,  equipped  as  for 
a  journey.  "  I  takes  the  stage  to-night,  Jinny,  dear,  from 
Four  Forks  to  'Frisco.  Maybe  I  may  drop  in  on  Jack 
afore  I  go.  I'll  be  back  in  a  week.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by."  He  still  held  her  hand.  Presently  he  drew 
her  back  into  the  room,  closing  the  door  carefully,  and  glan- 
cing around.  There  was  a  look  of  profound  cunning  in  his 
eye  as  he  said  slowly,  — 

"  Bear  up  and  keep  dark,  Jinny,  dear,  and  trust  to  the 
old  man.  Various  men  has  various  ways.  Thar  is  ways 
as  is  common  and  ways  as  is  oncommon,  ways  as  is  easy 
and  ways  as  is  oneasy.  Bear  up  and  keep  dark."  With 
this  Delphic  utterance  he  put  his  finger  to  his  lips  and 
vanished. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  reached  Four  Forks.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  that  dwelling 


214  THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

described  by  the  Four  Forks  "  Sentinel "  as  "  the  palatial 
residence  of  John  Ashe,"  and  known  to  the  local  satirist  as 
the  "  ash-box."  "  Hevin'  to  lay  by  two  hours,  John,"  he 
said  to  his  prospective  son-in-law,  as  he  took  his  hand  at 
the  door,  "  a  few  words  of  social  converse,  not  on  business, 
but  strictly  private,  seems  to  be  about  as  nat'ral  a  thing  as 
a  man  can  do."  This  introduction,  evidently  the  result  of 
some  study  and  plainly  committed  to  memory,  seemed  so 
satisfactory  to  Mr.  M'Closky  that  he  repeated  it  again,  after 
John  Ashe  had  led  him  into  his  private  office,  where, 
depositing  his  valise  .in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  sitting 
down  before  it,  he  began  carefully  to  avoid  the  eye  of  his 
host.  John  Ashe,  a  tall,  dark,  handsome  Kentuckian  — 
with  whom  even  the  trifles  of  life  were  evidently  full  of 
serious  import  —  waited  with  a  kind  of  chivalrous  respect 
the  further  speech  of  his  guest.  Being  utterly  devoid  of 
any  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  he  always  accepted  Mr. 
M'Closky  as  a  grave  fact,  singular  only  from  his  own  want 
of  experience  of  the  class. 

"Ores  is  running  light  now,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky,  with 
easy  indifference. 

John"  Ashe  returned  that  he  had  noticed  the  same  fact  in 
the  receipts  of  the  mill  at  Four  Forks. 

Mr.  M'Closky  rubbed  his  beard  and  looked  at  his  valise, 
as  if  for  sympathy  and  suggestion. 

"  You  don't  reckon  on  having  any  trouble  with  any  of 
them  chaps  ez  you  cut  out  with  Jinny  ?  " 

John  Ashe,  rather  haughtily,  had  never  thought  of  that. 
"I  saw  Eance  hanging  round  your  house  the  other  night 
when  I  took  your  daughter  home,  but  he  gave  me  a  wide 
berth,"  he  added  carelessly. 

"  Surely,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky,  with  a  peculiar  winking  of 
the  eye.  After  a  pause,  he  took  a  fresh  departure  from  his 
valise. 

"A   few    words,  John,  ez    between   man  and    man,  ez 


THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  215 

between  my  daughter's  father  and  her  husband  who  expects 
to  be,  is  about  the  thing,  I  take  it,  as  is  fair  and  square.  I 
kem  here  to  say  them.  They  're  about  Jinny,  my  gal." 

Ashe's  grave  face  brightened,  to  Mr.  M'Closky's  evident 
discomposure. 

"  Maybe  I  should  have  said,  about  her  mother ;  but  the 
same  bein'  a  stranger  to  you,  I  says,  nat'rally,  '  Jinny.'  " 

Ashe  nodded  courteously.  Mr.  M'Closky,  with  his  eyes 
on  his  valise,  went  on  :  — 

"  It  is  sixteen  year  ago  as  I  married  Mrs.  M'Closky  in 
the  State  of  Missouri.  She  let  on,  at  the  time,  to  be  a 
widder,  —  a  widder  with  one  child.  When  I  say  let  on,  I 
mean  to  imply  that  I  subsequently  found  out  that  she  was 
not  a  widder,  nor  a  wife,  and  the  father  of  the  child  was, 
so  to  speak,  onbeknownst.  Thet  child  was  Jinny  —  my 
gal." 

With  his  eyes  on  his  valise,  and  quietly  ignoring  the 
wholly  crimsoned  face  and  swiftly  darkening  brow  of  his 
host,  he  continued,  — 

"  Many  little  things  sorter  tended  to  make  our  home  in 
Missouri  onpleasant.  A  disposition  to  smash  furniture  and 
heave  knives  around,  an  inclination  to  howl  when  drunk, 
and  that  frequent ;  a  habitooal  use  of  vulgar  language,  and 
a  tendency  to  cuss  the  casooal  visitor,  seemed  to  pint," 
added  Mr.  "M'Closky  with  submissive  hesitation  —  "  thet  — 
she  —  was  —  so  to  speak  —  quite  onsuited  to  the  marriage 
relation  in  its  holiest  aspeck." 

"  Damnation  !  Why  did  n't "  —  burst  out  John  Ashe. 
erect  and  furious. 

"  At  the  end  of  two  year,"  continued  Mr.  M'Closky, 
still  intent  on  the  valise,  "  I  allowed  I  'd  get  a  diworce. 
Et  about  thet  time,  however,  Providence  sends  a  circus  into 
thet  town  and  a  feller  ez  rode  three  bosses  to  onct.  Hevin' 
allez  a  taste  for  athletic  sports,  she  left  town  with  this 
feller,  leavin'  me  and  Jinny  behind.  I  sent  word  to  her 


216  THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

thet  if  she  would  give  Jinny  to  me  we  'd  call  it  quits. 
And  she  did." 

"  Tell  me,"  gasped  Ashe,  "  did  you  ask  your  daughter  to 
keep  this  from  me,  or  did  she  do  it  of  her  own  accord  ?  " 

"  She  does  n't  know  it,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky  ;  "  she  thinks 
I  'm  her  father  and  that  her  mother  's  dead." 

"  Then,  sir,  this  is  your  "  — 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky  slowly,  "ez  I've 
asked  any  one  to  marry  my  Jinny.  I  don't  know  ez  I  've 
persood  that  ez  a  biziness,  or  even  taken  it  up  as  a  healthful 
recreation." 

John  Ashe  paced  the  room  furiously.  Mr.  M'Closky's 
eyes  left  the  valise  and  followed  him  curiously.  "  Where 
is  this  woman  ?  "  demanded  Ashe  suddenly.  M'Closky's 
eyes  sought  the  valise  again. 

"  She  went  to  Kansas  ;  from  Kansas  she  went  into  Texas. 
From  Texas  she  eventooally  came  to  Californy.  Being 
here,  I  've  purvided  her  with  money  —  when  her  business 
was  slack  —  through  a  friend." 

John  Ashe  groaned.  "  She  's  gettin'  rather  old  and  shaky 
for  hosses,  and  now  does  the  tight-rope  business  and  flying- 
trapeze.  Never  hevin'  seen  her  perform,"  continued  Mr. 
M'Closky,  with  conscientious  caution,  "  I  can't  say  how  she 
gets  on.  On  the  bills  she  looks  well.  Thar  is  a  poster," 
said  Mr.  M'Closky,  glancing  at  Ashe,  and  opening  his 
valise,  —  "  thar  is  a  poster  givin'  her  performance  at  Marys- 
ville  next  month."  Mr.  M'Closky  slowly  .unfolded  a  large 
yellow  and  blue  printed  poster,  profusely  illustrated.  "  She 
calls  herself  '  Mam'selle  J.  Miglawski,  —  the  great  Kussian 
Trapeziste.'  " 

John  Ashe  tore  it  from  his  hand.  "  Of  course,"  he  said, 
suddenly  facing  Mr.  M'Closky,  "you  don't  expect  me  to 
go  on  with  this  ?  " 

Mr.  M'Closky  picked  up  the  poster,  carefully  refolded  it, 
and  returned  it  to  his  valise.  "  When  you  break  off  with 


THE   KOSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  217 

Jinny,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  don't  want  anything  said  'bout 
this.  She  does  n't  know  it.  She  's  a  woman,  and  I  reckon 
you  're  a  white  man." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  say  ?  How  am  I  to  go  back  of  my 
word  ?  " 

"  Write  her  a  note.  Say  something  hez  come  to  your 
knowledge  —  don't  say  what  —  that  makes  you  break  it  off. 
You  need  n't  be  afeard  Jinny  '11  ever  ask  you  what." 

John  Ashe  hesitated.  He  felt  he  had  been  cruelly 
wronged.  No  gentleman  —  no  Ashe  —  could  go  on  further 
in  this  affair.  It  was  preposterous  to  think  of  it.  But  some- 
how he  felt  at  the  moment  very  unlike  a  gentleman  or  an 
Ashe,  and  was  quite  sure  he  should  break  down  under 
Jinny's  steady  eyes.  But  then  —  he  could  write  to  her. 

"  So  ores  is  about  as  light  here  as  on  the  Eidge.  Well, 
I  reckon  they'll  come  up  before  the  rains.  Good-night." 
Mr.  M'Closky  took  the  hand  that  his  host  mechanically 
extended,  shook  it  gravely,  and  was  gone. 

When  Mr.  M'Closky,  a  week  later,  stepped  again  upon 
his  own  veranda,  he  saw  through  the  French  window  the 
figure  of  a  man  in  his  parlor.  Under  his  hospitable  roof 
the  sight  was  not  unusual,  but  for  an  instant  a  subtle  sense 
of  disappointment  thrilled  him.  When  he  saw  it  was  not  the 
face  of  Ashe  turned  toward  him  he  was  relieved ;  but  when 
he  saw  the  tawny  beard  and  quick,  passionate  eyes  of  Henry 
Ranee  he  felt  a  new  sense  of  apprehension,  so  that  he  fell 
to  rubbing  his  beard  almost  upon  his  very  threshold. 

Jinny  ran  into  the  hall,  and  seized  her  father  with  a  little 
cry  of  joy.  "  Father,"  said  Jinny,  in  a  hurried  whisper, 
"  don't  mind  him  "  —  indicating  Ranee  with  a  toss  of  her 
yellow  braids  ;  "  he  's  going  soon,  and  I  think,  father,  I  've 
done  him  wrong.  But  it 's  all  over  with  John  and  me  now ; 
read  that  note,  and  see  how  he  's  insulted  me."  Her  lip 
quivered,  but  she  went  on  :  "  It 's  Ridgeway  that  he  means, 
father,  and  I  believe  it  was  his  hand  struck  Ridgeway  down, 


218  THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

or  that  he  knows  who  did.  But  hush,  now ;  not  a 
word." 

She  gave  him  a  feverish  kiss,  and  glided  back  into  the 
parlor,  leaving  Mr.  M'Closky  perplexed  and  irresolute  with 
the  note  in  his  hand.  He  glanced  at  it  hurriedly  and  saw 
that  it  was  couched  in  almost  the  very  words  he  had  sug- 
gested. But  a  sudden  apprehensive  recollection  came  over 
him;  he  listened,  and  with  an  exclamation  of  dismay  he 
seized  his  hat  and  ran  out  of  the  house.  But  too  late  ;  at 
the  same  moment  a  quick,  nervous  footstep  was  heard  upon 
the  veranda,  the  French  window  flew  open,  and  with  a  light 
laugh  of  greeting  Ridgeway  stepped  into  the  room. 

Jinny's  finer  ear  first  caught  the  step,  Jinny's  swifter  feel- 
ings had  sounded  the  depths  of  hope,  of  joy.  of  despair 
before  he  entered  the  room.  Jinny's  pale  face  was  the 
only  one  that  met  his,  self-possessed  and  self-reliant,  when 
he  stood  before  them.  An  angry  flush  suffused  even  the 
pink  roots  of  Ranee's  beard  as  he  rose  to  his  feet ;  an  omi- 
nous fire  sprang  into  Eidgeway's  eyes,  and  a  spasm  of  hate 
and  scorn  passed  over  the  lower  part  of  his  face  and  left 
the  mouth  and  jaw  immobile  and  rigid. 

Yet  he  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  I  owe  you  an  apology," 
he  oaid  to  Jinny,  with  a  suave  scorn  that  brought  the  indig- 
nant Hood  back  to  her  cheek,  "  for  this  intrusion,  but  I  ask 
no  pardon  for  withdrawing  from  the  only  spot  where  that 
man  dare  confront  me  with  safety." 

With  an  exclamation  of  rage,  Eance  sprang  toward  him. 
But  as  quickly  Jinny  stood  between  them,  erect  and  mena- 
cing. "  There  must  be  no  quarrel  here,"  she  said  to  Ranee. 
"  \Yhile  I  protect  your  right  as  my  guest,  don't  oblige  me 
to  remind  you  of  mine  as  your  hostess."  She  turned  with 
a  half-deprecatory  air  to  Ridgeway,  but  he  was  gone.  So 
was  her  father.  Only  Ranee  remained,  with  a  look  of  ill- 
8oncealed  triumph  on  his. face. 

Without  looking  at  him  she   passed    toward  the    door. 


THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  219 

When  she  reached  it  she  turned.  "  You  asked  me  a  question 
an  hour  ago.  Come  to  me  in  the  garden  at  nine  o'clock 
to-night  and  I  will  answer  you.  But  promise  me  first  to 
keep  away  from  Mr.  Dent ;  give  me  your  word  not  to  seek 
him  —  to  avoid  him  if  he  seeks  you.  Do  you  promise  ? 
It  is  well." 

He  would  have  taken  her  hand,  but  she  waved  him  away. 
In  another  moment  he  heard  the  swift  rustle  of  her  dress 
in  the  hall,  the  sound  of  her  feet  upon  the  stair,  the  sharp 
closing  of  her  bedroom  door, .and  all  was  quiet. 

And  even  thus  quietly  the  day  wore  away,  and  the  night 
rose  slowly  from  the  valley  and  overshadowed  the  mountains 
with  purple  wings  that  fanned  the  still  air  into  a  breeze,  until 
the  moon  followed  it  and  lulled  everything  to  rest  as  with 
the  laying  on  of  white  and  benedictory  hands.  It  was  a 
lovely  night,  but  Henry  Ranee,  waiting  impatiently  beneath 
a  sycamore  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  saw  no  beauty  in  earth 
or  air  or  sky.  A  thousand  suspicions  common  to  a  jealous 
nature,  a  vague  superstition  of  the  spot,  filled  his  mind  with 
distrust  and  doubt.  "  If  this  should  be  a  trick  to  keep  my 
hands  oft'  that  insolent  pup  !  "  he  muttered  —  but  even  as  the 
thought  passed  his  tongue,  a  white  figure  slid  from  the  shrub- 
bery near  the  house,  glided  along  the  line  of  picket  fence, 
and  then  stopped,  midway,  motionless  in  the  moonlight. 

It  was  she.  But  he  scarcely  recognized  her  in  the  white 
drapery  that  covered  her  head  and  shoulders  and  breast. 
He  approached  her  with  a  hurried  whisper.  "  Let  us  with- 
draw from  the  moonlight.  Everybody  can  see  us  here." 

"  We  have  nothing  to  say  that  cannot  be  said  in  the  moon- 
light, Henry  Ranee,"  she  replied,  coldly  receding  from  his 
proffered  hand.  She  trembled  for  a  moment,  as  if  with  a 
chill,  and  then  suddenly  turned  upon  him :  "  Hold  up 
your  head,  and  let  me  look  at  you  !  I  've  known  only  what 
men  are ;  let  me  see  Avhat  a  traitor  looks  like !  " 

He    recoiled   more   from  her  wild   face  than    her  words. 


220  THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

He  saw  for  the  first  time  that  her  hollow  cheeks  and  hollow 
eyes  were  hlazing  with  fever.  He  was  no  coward,  but  he 
would  have  fled. 

"  You  are  ill,  Jinny,"  he  said  ;  "  you  had  best  return  to 
the  house.  Another  time  "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  she  cried  hoarsely  ;  "  move  from  this  spot,  and 
I  '11  call  for  help  !  Attempt  to  leave  me  now,  and  I  '11  pro- 
claim you  the  assassin  that  you  are  !  " 

"  It  was  a  fair  fight,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"  Was  it  a  fair  fight  to  creep  behind  an  unarmed  and 
unsuspecting  man  ?  Was  it  a  fair  fight  to  try  to  throw 
suspicion  on  some  one  else  ?  Was  it  a  fair  fight  to  deceive 
me  ?  Liar  and  coward  that  you  are  !  " 

He  made  a  stealthy  step  toward  her  with  evil  eyes,  and 
a  wickeder  hand  that  crept  within  his  breast.  She  saw  the 
motion,  but  it  only  stung  her  to  newer  fury. 

"  Strike  !  "  she  said,  with  blazing  eyes,  throwing  her  hands 
open  before  him.  "  Strike  !  Are  you  afraid  of  the  woman 
who  dares  you  ?  or  do  you  keep  your  knife  for  the  backs  of 
unsuspecting  men  ?  Strike  !  I  tell  you  !  No  ?  Look  then  !  " 
With  a  sudden  movement  she  tore  from  her  head  and 
shoulders  the  thick  lace  shawl  that  had  concealed  her  figure 
and  stood  before  him.  "  Look  !  "  she  cried  passionately, 
pointing  to  the  bosom  and  shoulders  of  her  white  dress, 
darkly  streaked  with  faded  stains  and  ominous  discoloration. 
"  Look  !  This  is  the  dress  I  wore  that  morning  when  I 
found  him  lying  here  —  here  —  bleeding  from  your  cowardly 
knife.  Look  !  Do  you  see  ?  This  is  his  blood  —  my  darling 
boy's  blood  !  —  one  drop  of  which,  dead  and  faded  as  it  is, 
is  more  precious  to  me  than  the  whole  living  pulse  of  any 
other  man  !  Look  !  I  come  to  you  to-night  christened  with 
his  blood  and  dare  you  to  strike  —  dare  you  to  strike  him 
again  through  me  and  mingle  my  blood  with  his !  Strike. 
I  implore  you  !  Strike  !  if  you  have  any  pity  on  me  —  for 
God's  sake  !  Strike  !  if  you  are  a  man  !  Look  !  Here 


THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  221 

lay  his  head  on  my  shoulder ;  here  I  held  him  to  my  breast, 
where  never  —  so  help  me,  my  God  !  —  another  man  — 
Ah  ! "  — 

She  reeled  against  the  fence,  and  something  that  had 
flashed  in  Ranee's  hand  dropped  at  her  feet;  for  another 
flash  and  report  rolled  him  over  in  the  dust,  and  across 
his  writhing  body  two  men  strode  and  caught  her  ere  she 
fell. 

"She  has  only  fainted,"  said  Mr.  M'Closky.  "Jinny, 
dear,  my  girl,  speak  to  me  ! " 

"  What  is  this  on  her  dress  ?  "  said  Ridgeway,  kneeling 
beside  her,  and  lifting  his  set  and  colorless  face.  At  the 
sound  of  his  voice  the  color  came  faintly  back  to  her  cheek ; 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled. 

"  It 's  only  your  blood,  dear  boy,"  she  said ;  "  but  look  a 
little  deeper  and  you  '11  find  my  own." 

She  put  up  her  two  yearning  hands  and  drew  his  face 
and  lips  down  to  her  own.  When  Ridgeway  raised  his  head 
again  her  eyes  were  closed,  but  her  mouth  still  smiled  as 
with  the  memory  of  a  kiss. 

They  bore  her  to  the  house,  still  breathing,  but  uncon- 
scious. That  night  the  road  was  filled  with  clattering 
horsemen,  and  the  summoned  skill  of  the  country-side  for 
leagues  away  gathered  at  her  couch.  The  wound,  they  said, 
was  not  essentially  dangerous,  but  they  had  grave  fears  of 
the  shock  to  a  system  that  already  seemed  suffering  from 
some  strange  and  unaccountable  nervous  exhaustion.  The 
best  medical  skill  of  Tuolumne  happened  to  be  young  and 
observing,  and  waited  patiently  an  opportunity  to  account 
for  it.  He  was  presently  rewarded. 

For  toward  morning  she  rallied  and  looked  feebly  around. 
Then  she  beckoned  her  father  toward  her,  and  whispered, 
"Where  is  he?" 

"  They  took  him  away,  Jinny,  dear,  in  a  cart.  He  won't 
trouble  you  ii.qin  "  I  To  stopped,  for  Miss  Jinny  had  raised 


222  THE   ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE 

herself  on  her  elbow,  and  was  leveling  her  black  brows  at 
him.  But  two  kicks  from  the  young  surgeon,  and  a  sig- 
nificant motion  toward  the  door,  sent  Mr.  M'Closky  away, 
muttering,  "How  should  I  know  that  'he'  meant  Ridge- 
way  ? "  he  said  apologetically,  as  he  went  and  returned 
with  the  young  gentleman.  The  surgeon,  who  was  still  hold- 
ing her  pulse,  smiled,  and  thought  that  with  a  little  care  — 
and  attention  —  the  stimulants  —  might  be  —  diminished  — 
and  —  he  —  might  leave  —  the  patient  for  some  hours,  with 
perfect  safety.  He  would  give  further  directions  to  Mr. 
M'Closky  —  downstairs. 

It  was  with  great  archness  of  manner  that  half,  an  hour 
later  Mr.  M'Closky  entered  the  room  with  a  preparatory 
cough,  and  it  was  with  some  disappointment  that  he  found 
Ridgeway  standing  quietly  by  the  window,  and  his  daughter 
apparently  fallen  into  a  light  doze.  He  was  still  more 
concerned  when,  after  Ridgeway  had  retired,  noticing  a 
pleasant  smile  playing  about  her  lips,  he  said  softly,  — 

"  You  was  thinking  of  some  one,  Jinny  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father  "  —  the  gray  eyes  met  his  steadily  —  "  of 
poor  John  Ashe  !  " 

Her  recovery  was  swift.  Nature,  that  had  seemed  to 
stand  jealously  aloof  from  her  in  her  mental  anguish,  was 
kind  to  the  physical  hurt  of  her  favorite  child.  The  superb 
physique  which  had  been  her  charm  and  her  trial  now  stood 
her  in  good  stead.  The  healing  balsam  of  the  pine,  the  balm 
of  resinous  gums,  and  the  rare  medicaments  of  Sierran  alti- 
tudes touched  her,  as  it  might  have  touched  the  wounded 
doe.  So  that  in  two  weeks  she  was  able  to  walk  about,  and 
when  at  the  end  of  the  month  Ridgeway  returned  from  a 
flying  visit  to  San  Francisco,  and  jumped  from  the  Wingdam 
coach  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  The  Rose  of  Tuolumne, 
with  the  dewy  petals  of  either  cheek  fresh  as  when  first  un- 
folded to  his  kiss,  confronted  him  on  the  road. 

With  a  common  instinct  their  young  feet  both  climbed 


THE    ROSE   OF   TUOLUMNE  223 

the  little  hill  now  sacred  to  their  thought.  "When  they 
reached  its  summit  they  were  both,  I  think,  a  little  disap- 
pointed. There  is  a  fragrance  in  the  unfolding  of  a  passion 
that  escapes  the  perfect  flower.  Jinny  thought  the  night 
was  not  as  beautiful ;  Ridge  way,  that  the  long  ride  had 
blunted  his  perceptions.  But  they  had  the  frankness  to 
confess  it  to  each  other,  with  the  rare  delight  of  such  a  con- 
fession and  the  comparison  of  details  which  they  thought 
each  had  forgotten.  And  with  this  and  an  occasional  pity- 
ing reference  to  the  blank  period  when  they  had  not  known 
each  other,  hand  in  hand,  they  reached  the  house. 

Mr.  M'Closky  was  awaiting  them  impatiently  upon  the 
veranda.  When  Miss  Jinny  had  slipped  upstairs  to  re- 
place a  collar  that  stood  somewhat  suspiciously  awry,  Mr. 
M'Closky  drew  Ridgeway  solemnly  aside.  He  held  a  large 
theatre  poster  in  one  hand,  and  an  open  newspaper  in  the 
other. 

"  I  allus  said,"  he  remarked  slowly,  with  the  air  of  merely 
renewing  a  suspended  conversation,  —  "I  allus  said  that 
riding  three  bosses  to  onct  was  n't  exactly  in  her  line.  It 
would  seem  that  it  ain't.  From  remarks  in  this  yer  paper, 
it  would  appear  that  she  tried  it  on  at  Marysville  last  week 
and  broke  her  neck." 


A  MONTE   FLAT  PASTOEAL 

HOW  OLD   MAN   PLUNKETT  WENT   HOME 

I  THINK  we  all  loved  him.  Even  after  he  mismanaged 
the  affairs  of  the  Amity  Ditch  Company,  we  commiserated 
him,  although  most  of  us  were  stockholders  and  lost 
heavily.  I  remember  that  the  blacksmith  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  "  them  chaps  as  put  that  responsibility  on  the 
old  man  oughter  be  lynched."  But  the  blacksmith  was  not 
a  stockholder,  and  the  expression  was  looked  upon  as  the 
excusable  extravagance  of  a  large  sympathizing  nature,  that, 
when  combined  with  a  powerful  frame,  was  unworthy  of 
notice.  At  least,  that  was  the  way  they  put  it.  Yet  I 
think  there  was  a  general  feeling  of  regret  that  this  misfor- 
tune would  interfere  with  the  old  man's  long-cherished  plan 
of  "  going  home." 

Indeed,  for  the  last  ten  years  he  had  been  "  going  home." 
He  was  going  home  after  a'six  months'  sojourn  at  Monte 
Flat.  He  was  going  home  after  the  first  rains.  He  was 
going  home  when  the  rains  were  over.  He  was  going  home 
when  he  had  cut  the  timber  on  Buckeye  Hill,  when  there 
was  pasture  on  Dow's  Flat,  when  he  struck  pay-dirt  on 
Eureka  Hill,  when  the  Amity  Company  paid  its  first  divi- 
dend, when  the  election  was  over,  when  he  had  received 
an  answer  from  his  wife.  And  so  the  years  rolled  by  ;  the 
spring  rains  came  and  went,  the  woods  of  Buckeye  Hill 
were  level  with  the  ground,  the  pasture  of  Dow's  Flat  grew 
sere  and  dry,  Eureka  Hill  yielded  its  pay-dirt  and  swamped 
its  owner,  the  first  dividends  of  the  Amity  Company  were 
made  from  the  assessments  of  stockholders,  there  were 


A   MONTE   FLAT    PASTORAL  225 

new  county  officers  at  Mx>nte  Flat,  his  wife's  answer  had 
changed  into  a  persistent  question,  —  and  still  old  man 
Plunkett  remained. 

It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  he  had  made  several  distinct 
essays  towards  going.  Five  years  before  he  had  .bidden 
good-by  to  Monte  Hill  with  much  effusion  and  hand-shak- 
ing. But  he  never  got  any  farther  than  the  next  town. 
Here  he  was  induced  to  trade  the  sorrel  colt  he  was  riding 
for  a  bay  mare,  —  a  transaction  that  at  once  opened  to  his 
lively  fancy  a  vista  of  vast  and  successful  future  speculation, 
A  few  days  after,  Abner  Dean  of  Angel's  received  a  letter 
from  him  stating  that  he  was  going  to  Visalia  to  buy 
horses.  "  I  am  satisfied,"  wrote  Plunkett,  with  that  ele- 
vated rhetoric  for  which  his  correspondence  was  remarka- 
ble, —  "I  am  satisfied  that  we  are  at  last  developing  the 
real  resources  of  California.  The  world  will  yet  look  to 
Dow's  Flat  as  the  great  stock-raising  centre.  In  view  of 
the  interests  involved  I  have  deferred  my  departure  for  a 
month."  It  was  two  months  before  he  again  returned  to 
us,  penniless.  Six  months  later  he  was  again  enabled  to 
start  for  the  Eastern  States,  and  this  time  he  got  as  far  as 
San  Francisco.  I  have  before  me  a  letter  which  I  received 
a  few  days  after  his  arrival,  from  which  I  venture  to  give 
an  extract :  "  You  know,  my  dear  boy,  that  I  have  always 
believed  that  gambling,  as  it  is  absurdly  called,  is  still  in 
its  infancy  in  California.  I  have  always  maintained  that  a 
perfect  system  might  be  invented,  by  which  the  game  of 
poker  may  be  made  to  yield  a  certain  percentage  to  the 
intelligent  player.  I  am  not  at  liberty  at  present  to  dis- 
close the  system,  but  before  leaving  this  city  I  intend  to 
perfect  it."  He  seems  to  have  done  so,  and  returned  to 
Monte  Flat  with  two  dollars  and  thirty-seven  cents,  the 
absolute  remainder  of  his  capital  after  such  perfection. 

It  was  not  until  1868  that  he  appeared  to  have  finally 
succeeded  in  going  home.  He  left  us  by  the  overland  route. 


£26  A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL 

—  a  route  which  he  declared  would  give  great  opportunity 
for  the  discovery  of  undeveloped  resources.     His  last  letter 
was  dated  Virginia  City.     He  was  absent  three  years.     At 
the  close  of  a  very  hot  day  in  midsummer  he  alighted  from 
the  "Wingdam  stage  with  hair  and  beard  powdered  with  dust 
and  age.     There  was  a  certain  shyness  about  his  greeting, 
quite  different  from  his  usual  frank  volubility,  that  did  not, 
however,  impress  us  as  any  accession  of  character.      For 
some  days  he  was  reserved  regarding  his  recent  visit,  con- 
tenting himself  with  asserting,  with  more  or  less  aggressive- 
ness, that  he   had  "  always  said  he  was  going  home,  and 
now  he  had  been  there."     Later,  he  grew  more  communi- 
cative, and  spoke  freely  and  critically  of  the  manners  and 
customs  of  New  York  and  Boston,  commented  on  the  social 
changes  in  the  years  of  his  absence,  and,  I  remember,  was 
very  hard  upon  what  he  deemed  the  follies  incidental  to  a 
high  state  of  civilization.      Still  later,  he  darkly  alluded  to 
the  moral  laxity  of  the  higher  planes  of  Eastern  society, 
but  it  was  not  long  before  he  completely  tore  away  the  veil 
and  revealed  the  naked  wickedness  of  New  York  social  life 
in  a  way  I  even  now  shudder  to  recall.      Vinous  intoxica- 
tion, it  appeared,  was  a  common  habit  of  the  first  ladies  of 
the  city ;  immoralities  which  he  scarcely  dared  name  were 
daily  practiced  by  the  refined  of  both  sexes ;   niggardliness 
and  greed  were  the  common  vices  of  the  rich.     "  I  have 
always  asserted,"  he  continued,  "  that  corruption  must  exist 
where  luxury  and  riches  are   rampant,  and   capital  is  not 
used    to   develop    the    natural    resources   of   the    country. 

—  Thank  you,  I  will  take  mine  without  sugar."    It  is  pos- 
sible that  some  of  these  painful  details  crept  into  the  local 
journals.      I  remember  an  editorial   in  the  "  Monte  Flat 
Monitor,"  entitled  "  The  Effete  East,"  in  which  the  fatal 
decadence  of  New  York  and  New  England  was  elaborately 
stated,  and  California  offered  as  a  means  of  natural  salva- 
tion.    "Perhaps,"   said  the  "Monitor,"   "we  might  add 


A    MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL  227 

that  Calaveras  County  offers  superior  inducements  to  the 
Eastern  visitor  with  capital." 

Later  he  spoke  of  his  family.  The  daughter  he  had  left 
a  child  had  grown  into  beautiful  womanhood ;  the  son  was 
already  taller  and  larger  than  his  father,  and  in  a  playful 
trial  of  strength,  "  the  young  rascal,"  added  Plunkett,  with 
a  voice  broken  with  paternal  pride  and  humorous  objurga- 
tion, had  twice  thrown  his  doting  parent  to  the  ground. 
But  it  was  of  his  daughter  he  chiefly  spoke.  Perhaps 
emboldened  by  the  evident  interest  which  masculine  Monte 
Flat  held  in  feminine  beauty,  he  expatiated  at  some  length 
on  her  various  charms  and  accomplishments,  and  finally 
produced  her  photograph  —  that  of  a  very  pretty  girl  —  to 
their  infinite  peril.  But  his  account  of  his  first  meeting 
with  her  was  so  peculiar  that  I  must  fain  give  it  after  his 
own  methods,  which  were,  perhaps,  some  shades  less  precise 
and  elegant  than  his  written  style. 

"  You  see,  boys,  it 's  always  been  my  opinion  that  a  man 
oughter  be  able  to  tell  his  own  flesh  and  blood  by  instinct. 
It 's  ten  years  since  I  'd  seen  my  Melindy,  and  she  was 
then  only  seven,  and  about  so  high.  So  when  I  went  to 
New  York,  what  did  I  do  ?  Did  I  go  straight  to  my  house 
and  ask  for  my  wife  and  daughter,  like  other  folks  ?  No, 
sir  !  I  rigged  myself  up  as  a  peddler,  —  as  a  peddler,  sir,  — 
and  I  rung  the  bell.  When  the  servant  came  to  the  door, 
I  wanted,  don't  you  see,  to  show  the  ladies  some  trinkets. 
Then  there  was  a  voice  over  the  banister,  says,  *  Don't  want 
anything  —  send  him  away.'  'Some  nice  laces,  ma'am, 
smuggled,'  I  says,  looking  up.  '  Get  out,  you  wretch,'  says 
she.  I  knew  the  voice,  boys,  —  it  was  my  wife  ;  sure  as  a 
gun — thar  wasn't  any  instinct  thar.  '  Maybe  the  young 
ladies  want  somethin','  I  said.  '  Did  you  hear  me  ?  '  says 
she,  and  with  that  she  jumps  forward,  and  I  left.  It 's  ten 
years,  boys,  since  I  've  seen  the  old  woman,  but  somehow, 
when  she  fetched  that  leap,  I  naterally  left." 


228  A   MONTE    FLAT    PASTORAL 

He  had  been  standing  beside  the  bar  —  his  usual  attitude 
—  when  he  made  this  speech,  but  at  this  point  he  half-faced 
his  auditors  with  a  look  that  was  very  effective.  Indeed,  a 
few,  who  had  exhibited  some  signs  of  skepticism  and  lack 
of  interest,  at  once  assumed  an  appearance  of  intense  grati- 
fication and  curiosity  as  he  went  on. 

"  Well,  by  hangin'  round  there  for  a  day  or  two,  I  found 
out  at  last  it  was  to  be  Melindy's  birthday  next  week,  and 
that  she  was  goin'  to  have  a  big  party.  I  tell  ye  what,  boys> 
it  were  n't  no  slouch  of  a  reception.  The  whole  house  was 
bloomin'  with  flowers,  and  blazin'  with  lights,  and  there 
was  no  end  of  servants  and  plate  and  refreshments  and 
fixin's  "  — 

"  Uncle  Joe." 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  Where  did  they  get  the  money  ?  " 

Plunkett  faced  his  interlocutor  with  a  severe  glance. 
"  I  always  said,"  he  replied  slowly,  "  that  when  I  went 
home,  I  'd  send  on  ahead  of  me  a  draft  for  ten  thousand 
dollars.  I  always  said  that,  did  n't  I  ?  Eh  ?  And  I  said 
I  was  goin'  home  —  and  I've  been  home  —  haven't  I? 
Well  ?  " 

Either  there  was  something  irresistibly  conclusive  in  this 
logic,  or  else  the  desire  to  hear  the  remainder  of  Plunkett's 
story  was  stronger,  but  there  was  no  more  interruption. 
His  ready  good  humor  quickly  returned,  and,  with  a  slight 
chuckle,  he  went  on. 

"I  went  to  the  biggest  jewelry  shop  in  town,  and  I 
bought  a  pair  of  diamond  earrings  and  put  them  in  my 
pocket,  and  went  to  the  house.  '  What  name  ? '  says  the 
chap  who  opened  the  door,  and  he  looked  like  a  cross 
'twixt  a  restaurant  waiter  and  a  parson.  '  Skeesicks,'  said 
I.  He  takes  me  in,  and  pretty  soon  my  wife  comes  sailin' 
into  the  parlor,  and  says,  'Excuse  me,  but  I  don't  think 
I  recognize  the  name.'  She  was  mighty  polite,  for  I  had 


A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL  229 

on  a  red  wig  and  side-whiskers.  '  A  friend  of  your  husband's 
from  California,  ma'am,  with  a  present  for  your  daughter, 
Miss  '  —  and  I  made  as  I  had  forgot  the  name.  But  all 
of  a  sudden  a  voice  said,  '  That 's  too  thin,'  and  in  walked 
Melindy.  '  It 's  playin'  it  rather  low  down,  father,  to  pre- 
tend you  don't  know  your  daughter's  name  —  ain't  it  now  ? 
How  are  you,  old  man  ?  '  And  with  that  she  tears  off  my 
wig  and  whiskers,  and  throws  her  arms  around  my  neck, 
—  instinct,  sir,  pure  instinct !  " 

Emboldened  by  the  laughter  which  followed  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  filial  utterances  of  Melinda,  he  again  repeated 
her  speech,  with  more  or  less  elaboration,  joining  in  with, 
and  indeed  often  leading,  the  hilarity  that  accompanied  it, 
and  returning  to  it  with  more  or  less  incoherency,  several 
times  during  the  evening. 

And  so  at  various  times,  and  at  various  places  —  but 
chiefly  in  bar-rooms  —  did  this  Ulysses  of  Monte  Flat 
recount  the  story  of  his  wanderings.  There  were  several 
discrepancies  in  his  statement,  there  was  sometimes  con- 
siderable prolixity  of  detail,  there  was  occasional  change 
of  character  and  scenery,  there  was  once  or  twice  an 
absolute  change  in  the  denouement,  but  always  the  fact 
of  his  having  visited  his  wife  and  children  remained.  Of 
course  in  a  skeptical  community  like  that  of  Monte  Flat  — 
a  community  accustomed  to  great  expectation  and  small 
realization  —  a  community  wherein,  to  use  the  local  dialect, 
"  they  got  the  color  and  struck  hardpan  "  more  frequently 
than  any  other  mining  camp  —  in  such  a  community  the 
fullest  credence  was  not  given  to  old  man  Plunkett's  facts. 
There  was  only  one  exception  to  the  general  unbelief,  — 
Henry  York  of  Sandy  Bar.  It  was  he  who  was  always  an 
attentive  listener ;  it  was  his  scant  purse  that  had  often 
furnished  Plunkett  with  means  to  pursue  his  unprofitable 
speculations  ;  it  was  to  him  that  the  charms  of  Melinda 
were  more  frequently  rehearsed ;  it  was  he  that  had  bor 


230  A  MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL 

rowed  her  photograph ;  and  it  was  he  that,  sitting  alone  in 
his  little  cabin  one  night,  kissed  that  photograph  until  his 
honest,  handsome  face  glowed  again  in  the  firelight. 

It  was  dusty  in  Monte  Flat.  The  ruins  of  the  long,  dry 
season  were  crumbling  everywhere ;  everywhere  the  dying 
summer  had  strewn  its  red  ashes  a  foot  deep,  or  exhaled  its 
last  breath  in  a  red  cloud  above  the  troubled  highways.  The 
alders  and  cottonwoods  that  marked  the  line  of  the  water- 
courses were  grimy  with  dust,  and  looked  as  if  they  might 
have  taken  root  in  the  open  air ;  the  gleaming  stones  of  the 
parched  water-courses  themselves  were  dry  as  bones  in  the 
valley  of  death.  The  dusty  sunset  at  times  painted  the 
flanks  of  the  distant  hills  a  dull,  coppery  hue ;  on  other 
days  there  was  an  odd,  indefinable  earthquake  halo  on  the 
volcanic  cones  of  the  farther  coast- spurs  j  again,  an  acid, 
resinous  smoke  from  the  burning  wood  on  Heavytree  Hill 
smarted  the  eyes  and  choked  the  free  breath  of  Monte  Flat, 
or  a  fierce  wind,  driving  everything  —  including  the  shriv- 
eled summer  like  a  curled  leaf  —  before  it,  swept  down  the 
Hanks  of  the  Sierras  and  chased  the  inhabitants  to  the  doors 
of  their  cabins,  and  shook  its  red  fist  in  at  their  windows. 
And  on  such  a  night  as  this  —  the  dust  having,  in  some 
way,  choked  the  wheels  of  material  progress  in  Monte  Flat 
—  most  of  the  inhabitants  were  gathered  listlessly  in  the 
gilded  bar-room-  of  the  Moquelumne  Hotel,  spitting  silently 
at  the  red-hot  stove  that  tempered  the  mountain  winds  to 
the  shorn  lambs  of  Monte  Flat,  and  waiting  for  the  rain. 

Every  method  known  to  the  Flat  of  beguiling  the  time 
until  the  advent  of  this  long-looked-for  phenomenon  had 
been  tried.  It  is  true  the  methods  were  not  many,  being 
limited  chiefly  to  that  form  of  popular  facetiae  known  as 
practical  joking ;  and  even  this  had  assumed  the  seriousness 
of  a  business  pursuit.  Tommy  Roy,  who  had  spent  two 
hours  in  digging  a  ditch  in  front  of  his  own  door  —  into 
.vhich  a  few  friends  casually  dropped  during  the  evening  — 


A  MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL  231 

looked  ennuye  and  dissatisfied  ;  the  four  prominent  citizens, 
who,  disguised  as  footpads,  had  stopped  the  County 
Treasurer  on  the  Wingdam  road,  were  jaded  from  their 
playful  efforts  next  morning ;  the  principal  physician  and 
lawyer  of  Monte  Flat,  who  had  entered  into  an  unhallowed 
conspiracy  to  compel  the  Sheriff  of  Calaveras  and  his  posse 
to  serve  a  writ  of  ejectment  on  a  grizzly  bear,  feebly  dis- 
guised under  the  name  of  "  one  Major  Ursus,"  who  haunted 
the  groves  of  Heavytree  Hill,  wore  an  expression  of  resigned 
weariness.  Even  the  editor  of  the  "  Monte  Flat  Monitor," 
who  had  that  morning  written  a  glowing  account  of  a  battle 
with  the  Wipneck  Indians  for  the  benefit  of  Eastern 
readers  —  even  he  looked  grave  and  worn.  When,  at  last, 
Abner  Dean  of  Angel's,  who  had  been  on  a  visit  to  San 
Francisco,  walked  into  the  room,  he  was,  of  course,  victim- 
ized in  the  usual  way  by  one  or  two  apparently  honest 
questions  which  ended  in  his  answering  them,  and  then 
falling  into  the  trap  of  asking  another  to  his  utter  and  com- 
plete shame  and  mortification  —  but  that  was  all.  Nobody 
laughed,  and  Abner,  although  a  victim,  did  not  lose  his 
good  humor.  He  turned  quietly  on  his  tormentors  and 
said,  — 

"  I  've  got  something  better  than  that  —  you  know  old 
man  Plunkett  ?  " 

Everybody  simultaneously  spat  at  the  stove  and  nodded 
his  head. 

"  You  know  he  went  home  three  years  ago  ?  "  Two  or 
three  changed  the  position  of  their  legs  from  the  backs  of 
different  chairs,  and  one  man  said,  "  Yes." 

"  Had  a  good  time  home  ?  " 

Everybody  looked  cautiously  at  the  man  who  had  said 
"  Yes,"  and  he,  accepting  the  responsibility  with  a  faint- 
hearted smile,  said,  "  Yes,"  again,  and  breathed  hard. 

"  Saw  his  wife  and  child,  —  purty  gal  ?  "  said  Abner 
cautiously. 


232  A  MONTE   FLAT   PASTOKAL 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  man  doggedly. 

"  Saw  her  photograph,  perhaps  ?  "  continued  Abner  Dean 
quietly. 

The  man  looked  hopelessly  around  for  support.  Two  or 
three  who  had  been  sitting  near  him,  and  evidently  encour- 
aging him  with  a  look  of  interest,  now  shamelessly  aban- 
doned him  and  looked  another  way.  Henry  York  flushed 
a  little  and  veiled  his  brown  eyes.  The  man  hesitated,  and 
then  with  a  sickly  smile  that  was  intended  to  convey  the 
fact  that  he  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  object  of  this 
questioning,  and  was  only  humoring  it  from  abstract  good 
feeling,  returned,  "  Yes,"  again. 

11  Sent  home  —  let 's  see  — ten  thousand  dollars,  was  n't 
it  ?  "  Abner  Dean  went  on. 

"  Yes,"  reiterated  the  man,  with  the  same  smile. 

"  Well,  I  thought  so,"  said  Abner  quietly  ;  "  but  the 
fact  is,  you  see,  that  he  never  went  home  at  all  —  nary 
time." 

Everybody  stared  at  Abner  in  genuine  surprise  and  inter- 
est, as  with  provoking  calmness  and  a  half-lazy  manner  he 
went  on. 

"  You  see,  thar  was  a  man  down  in  'Frisco  as  knowed 
him  and  saw  him  in  Sonora  during  the  whole  of  that  three 
years.  He  was  herding  sheep  or  tending  cattle,  or  spekilat- 
ing  all  that  time,  and  had  n't  a  red  cent.  Well,  it  'mounts 
to  this,  —  that  'ar  Plunketc  ain't  been  east  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  since  '49." 

The  laugh  which  Abner  Dean  had  the  right  to  confidently 
expect  came,  but  it  was  bitter  and  sardonic.  I  think  indig- 
nation was  apparent  in  the  minds  of  his  hearers.  It  was 
felt,  for  the  first  time,  that  there  was  a  limit  to  practical 
joking.  A  deception  carried  on  for  a  year,  compromising 
the  sagacity  of  Monte  Flat,  was  deserving  the  severest 
reprobation.  Of  course  nobody  had  believed  Plunkett ;  but 
then  the  supposition  that  it  might  be  believed  in  adjacent 


A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL  233 

camps  that  they  had  believed  him  was  gall  and  bitterness. 
The  lawyer  thought  that  an  indictment  for  obtaining  money 
under  false  pretenses  might  be  found;  the  physician  had 
long  suspected  him  of  insanity,  and  was  not  certain  but  that 
he  ought  to  be  confined.  The  four  prominent  merchants 
thought  that  the  business  interests  of  Monte  Flat  demanded 
that  something  should  be  done.  In  the  midst  of  an  excited 
and  angry  discussion  the  door  slowly  opened,  and  old  man 
Plunkett  staggered  into  the  room. 

He  had  changed  pitifully  in  the  last  six  months.  His 
hair  was  a  dusty  yellowish-gray,  like  the  chemisal  on  the 
flanks  of  Heavytree  Hill  ;  his  face  was  waxen-white  and 
blue  and  puffy  under  the  eyes  ;  his  clothes  were  soiled  and 
shabby,  —  streaked  in  front  with  the  stains  of  hurried  lunch- 
eons eaten  standing,  and  fluffy  behind  with  the  wool  and 
hair  of  hurriedly  extemporized  couches.  In  obedience  to 
that  odd  law,  that  the  more  seedy  and  soiled  a  man's  gar- 
ments become  the  less  does  he  seem  inclined  to  part  with 
them,  even  during  that  portion  of  the  twenty-four  hours 
when  they  are  deemed  least  essential,  Plunkett's  clothes 
had  gradually  taken  on  the  appearance  of  a  kind  of  bark,  or 
an  outgrowth  from  within,  for  which  their  possessor  was 
not  entirely  responsible.  Howbeit,  as  he  entered  the  room 
he  attempted  to  button  his  coat  over  a  dirty  shirt,  and 
passed  his  fingers,  after  the  manner  of  some  animal,  over 
his  cracker-strewn  beard  —  in  recognition  of  a  cleanly  public 
sentiment.  But  even  as  he  did  so  the  weak  smile  faded 
from  his  lips,  and  his  hand,  after  fumbling  aimlessly  around 
a  button,  dropped  helplessly  at  his  side.  For,  as  he  leaned 
his  back  against  the  bar  and  faced  the  group,  he  for  the  first 
time  became  aware  that  every  eye  but  one  was  fixed  upon  him. 
His  quick,  nervous  apprehension  at  once  leaped  to  the  truth. 
His  miserable  secret  was  out  and  abroad  in  the  very  air  about 
him.  As  a  last  resort,  he  glanced  despairingly  at  Henry 
York,  but  his  flushed  face  was  turned  toward  the  windows. 


234  A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL 

No  word  was  spoken.  As  the  barkeeper  silently  swung 
a  decanter  and  glass  before  him,  he  took  a  cracker  from  a 
dish  and  mumbled  it  with  affected  unconcern.  He  lingered 
over  his  liquor,  until  its  potency  stiffened  his  relaxed  sinews 
and  dulled  the  nervous  edge  of  his  apprehension,  and  then 
he  suddenly  faced  around.  "  It  don't  look  as  if  we  were 
goin'  to  hev  any  rain  much  afore  Christmas,"  he  said  with 
defiant  ease. 

No  one  made  any  reply. 

"  Just  like  this  in  '52  and  again  in  '60.  It 's  always 
been  my  opinion  that  these  dry  seasons  come  reg'lar.  I've 
said  it  afore.  I  say  it  again.  It 's  jist  as  I  said  about  go- 
ing home,  you  know,"  he  added  with  desperate  recklessness. 

"Thar's  a  man,"  said  Abner  Dean  lazily,  "  ez  sez  you 
never  went  home.  Thar  's  a  man  ez  sez  you  've  been  three 
years  in  Sonora.  Thar  's  a  man  ez  sez  you  hain't  seen  your 
wife  and  daughter  since  '49.  Thar  's  a  man  ez  sez  you  've 
been  playin'  this  camp  for  six  months." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  a  voice  said,  quite  as 
quietly,  — 

"  That  man  lies." 

It  was  not  the  old  man's  voice.  Everybody  turned  as 
Henry  York  slowly  rose,  stretching  out  his  six  feet  of  length, 
and,  brushing  away  the  ashes  that  had  fallen  from  his  pipe 
upon  his  breast,  deliberately  placed  himself  beside  Plunkett, 
and  faced  the  others. 

"  That  man  ain't  here,"  continued  Abner  Dean  with  list- 
less indifference  of  voice  and  a  gentle  preoccupation  of 
manner,  as  he  carelessly  allowed  his  right  hand  to  rest  on 
his  hip  near  his  revolver.  "  That  man  ain't  here,  but  if 
I-'m  called  upon  to  make  good  what  he  says,  why,  I'm  on 
hand." 

All  rose  as  the  two  men  —  perhaps  the  least  externally 
agitated  of  them  all  —  approached  each  other.  The  lawyer 
stepped  in  between  them. 


A   MONTE   FLAT    PASTORAL  235 

"  Perhaps  there 's  some  mistake  here.  York,  do  you 
know  that  the  old  man  has  been  home  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

York  turned  his  clear,  honest,  frank  eyes  on  his  questioner, 
and  without  a  tremor  told  the  only  direct  and  unmitigated 
lie  of  his  life.  "  Because  I  've  seen  him  there." 

The  answer  was  conclusive.  It  was  known  that  York 
had  been  visiting  the  East  during  the  old  man's  absence. 
The  colloquy  had  diverted  attention  from  Plunkett,  who, 
pale  and  breathless,  was  staring  at  his  unexpected  deliverer. 
As  he  turned  again  toward  his  tormentors,  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  expression  of  his  eye  that  caused  those  that 
were  nearest  to  him  to  fall  back,  and  sent  a  strange,  indefin- 
able thrill  through  the  boldest  and  most  reckless.  As  he 
made  a  step  forward  the  physician  almost  unconsciously 
raised  his  hand  with  a  warning  gesture,  and  old  man  Plun- 
kett, with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  red-hot  stove,  and  an  odd 
smile  playing  about  his  mouth,  began,  — 

"  Yes  —  of  course  you  did.  Who  says  you  did  n't  ?  It 
ain't  no  lie  ;  I  said  I  was  goin'  home,  and  I  've  been  home 
Have  n't  I  ?  My  God  !  I  have.  Who  says  I  've  been 
lyin'  ?  Who  says  I  'm  dreamin'  ?  Is  it  true  —  why  don't 
you  speak  ?  It  is  true,  after  all.  You  say  you  saw  me 
there  —  why  don't  you  speak  again  ?  Say  !  Say  !  —  is  it 
true  ?  It 's  going  now,  O  my  God  —  it 's  going  again. 
It 's  going  now.  Save  me !  "  and  with  a  fierce  cry  he  fell 
forward  in  a  fit  upon  the  floor. 

When  the  old  man  regained  his  senses  he  found  himself 
in  York's  cabin.  A  flickering  fire  of  pine  boughs  lit  up  the 
rude  rafters,  and  fell  upon  a  photograph  tastefully  framed 
with  fir-cones,  and  hung  above  the  brush  whereon  he  lay. 
It  was  the  portrait  of  a  young  girl.  It  was  the  first  object 
to  meet  the  old  man's  gaze,  and  it  brought  with  it  a  flush 
of  such  painful  consciousness  that  he  started  and  glanced 


236  A   MONTE    FLAT    PASTORAL 

quickly  around.  But  his  eyes  only  encountered  those  o{ 
York,  —  clear,  brown,  critical,  and  patient,  and  they  fell 
again. 

"  Tell  me,  old  man,"  said  York,  not  unkindly,  but  with 
the  same  cold,  clear  tone  in  his  voice  that  his  eye  betrayed  a 
moment  ago,  —  "  tell  me,  is  that  a  lie  too  ?  "  and  he  pointed 
to  the  picture. 

The  old  man  closed  his  eyes,  and  did  not  reply.  Two 
hours  before  the  question  would  have  stung  him  into  some 
evasion  or  bravado.  But  the  revelation  contained  in  the 
question,  as  well  as  the  tone  of  York's  voice,  was  to  him 
now,  in  his  pitiable  condition,  a  relief.  It  was  plain  even 
to  his  confused  brain  that  York  had  lied  when  he  had 
indorsed  his  story  in  the  bar-room  ;  it  was  clear  to  him 
now  that  he  had  not  been  home  —  that  he  was  not,  as  he 
had  begun  to  fear,  going  mad.  It  was  such  a  relief  that, 
with  characteristic  weakness,  his  former  recklessness  and 
extravagance  returned.  He  began  to  chuckle  —  finally,  to 
laugh  uproariously. 

York,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  old  man,  withdrew 
the  hand  with  which  he  had  taken  his. 

"  Did  n't  we  fool  'em  nicely,  eh,  Yorky  ?  He !  he  !  The 
biggest  thing  yet  ever  played  in  this  camp !  I  always  said 
I  'd  play  'em  all  some  day,  and  I  have  —  played  'em  for  six 
months.  Ain't  it  rich  —  ain't  it  the  richest  thing  you  ever 
seed  ?  Did  you  see  Abner's  face  when  he  spoke  'bout  that 
man  as  seed  me  in  Sonora  ?  —  wa'n't  it  good  as  the  min- 
strels ?  Oh,  it 's  too  much  !  "  and  striking  his  leg  with  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  he  almost  threw  himself  from  the  bed  in 
a  paroxysm  of  laughter — a  paroxysm  that,  nevertheless, 
appeared  to  be  half  real  and  half  affected. 

"  Is  that  photograph  hers  ?  "  said  York  in  a  low  voice, 
after  a  slight  pause. 

"  Hers  ?  No  !  It 's  one  of  the  San  Francisco  actresses, 
He  !  he  1  Don't  you  see  —  I  bought  it  for  two  bits  in  one  of 


A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL  237 

the  bookstores.  I  never  thought  they  'd  swaller  that  too  ! 
but  they  did !  Oh,  but  the  old  man  played  'em  this  time, 
did  n't  he  —  eh  ?  "  and  he  peered  curiously  in  York's  face. 

"  Yes,  and  he  played  me  too,"  said  York,  looking  steadily 
in  the  old  man's  eye. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  interposed  Plunkett  hastily  ;  "  but  you 
know,  Yorky,  you  got  out  of  it  well !  You  've  sold  'em  too. 
We  've  both  got  'em  on  a  string  now  —  you  and  me  —  got 
to  stick  together  now.  You  did  it  well,  Yorky,  you  did  it 
well.  Why,  when  you  said  you  'd  seen  me  in  York  city, 
I'm  d— d  if  I  didn't"  — 

"  Did  n't  what  ?  "  said  York  gently,  for  the  old  man  had 
stopped  with  a  pale  face  and  wandering  eye. 

«  Eh  ?  " 

"  You  say  when  I  said  I  had  seen  you  in  New  York  you 
thought " — 

"  You  lie !  "  said  the  old  man  fiercely  ;  "  I  did  n't  say  I 
thought  anything.  What  are  you  trying  to  go  back  on  me 
for  ?  Eh  ?  "  His  hands  were  trembling  as  he  rose,  mut- 
tering, from  the  bed,  and  made  his  way  toward  the  hearth. 

"  Gimme  some  whiskey,"  he  said  presently,  "  and  dry  up. 
You  oughter  treat,  anyway.  Them  fellows  oughter  treated 
last  night.  By  hookey,  I'd  made  'em  —  only  I  fell  sick." 

York  placed  the  liquor  and  a  tin  cup  on  the  table  beside 
him,  and  going  to  the  door  turned  his  back  upon  his  guest 
and  looked  out  on  the  night.  Although  it  was  clear  moon- 
light the  familiar  prospect  never  to  him  seemed  so  dreary. 
The  dead  waste  of  the  broad  Wingdam  highway  never 
seemed  so  monotonous  —  so  like  the  days  that  he  had  passed 
and  were  to  come  to  him  —  so  like  the  old  man  in  its 
suggestion  of  going  somewhere  and  never  getting  there. 
He  turned,  and  going  up  to  Plunkett  put  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  arid  said,  — 

"  I  want  you  to  answer  one  question  fairly  and  squarely." 

The  liquor  seemed  to  have  warmed  the  torpid  blood  in 


238  A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL 

the  old  man's  veins  and  softened  his  acerbity,  for  the  face 
he  turned  up  to  York  was  mellowed  in  its  rugged  outline 
and  more  thoughtful  in  expression  as  he  said,  — 

"  Go  on,  my  boy." 

"  Have  you  a  wife  and  —  daughter  ?  " 

"  Before  God,  I  have  !  " 

The  two  men  were  silent  for  a  moment,  both  gazing  at 
the  fire.  Then  Plunkett  began  rubbing  his  knees  slowly. 

"The  wife,  if  it  comes  to  that,  ain't  much,"  he  began 
cautiously,  "  being  a  little  on  the  shoulder,  you  know,  and 
wantin',  so  to  speak,  a  liberal  California  education  —  which 
makes,  you  know,  a  bad  combination.  It 's  always  been 
my  opinion  that  there  ain't  any  worse.  Why,  she  's  as  ready 
with  her  tongue  as  Abner  Dean  is  with  his  revolver,  only 
with  the  difference  that  she  shoots  from  principle,  as  she 
calls  it,  and  the  consequence  is  she  's  always  layin'  for  you. 
It 's  the  effete  East,  my  boy,  that 's  ruinin'  her ;  it 's  them 
ideas  she  gets  in  New  York  and  Boston  that's  made  her 
and  me  what  we  are.  I  don't  mind  her  havin'  'em  if  she 
did  n't  shoot.  But  havin'  that  propensity,  them  principles 
ought  n't  to  be  lying  round  loose  no  more  'n  firearms." 

"  But  your  daughter  ?  "  said  York. 

The  old  man's  hands  went  up  to  his  eyes  here,  and  then 
both  hands  and  head  dropped  forward  on  the  table.  "  Don't 
say  anything  'bout  her,  my  boy  ;  don't  ask  me  now."  With 
one  hand  concealing  his  eyes  he  fumbled  about  with  the 
other  in  his  pockets  for  his  handkerchief — but  vainly. 
Perhaps  it  was  owing  to  this  fact  that  he  repressed  his  tears, 
for  when  he  removed  his  hand  from  his  eyes  they  were 
quite  dry.  Then  he  found  his  voice. 

"  She  's  a  beautiful  girl,  —  beautiful,  though  I  say  it ;  and 
you  shall  see  her,  my  boy,  —  you  shall  see  her,  sure.  I  've 
got  things  about  fixed  now.  I  shall  have  my  plan  for  redu- 
ciu'  ores  perfected  in  a  day  or  two,  and  1  've  got  proposals 
from  all  the  smeltin'  works  here  "  —  here  he  hastily  produced 


A   MONTE    FLAT    PASTORAL  239 

a  bundle  of  papers  that  fell  upon  the  floor  —  "  and  I  'm  goin' 
to  send  for  'em.  I  've  got  the  papers  here  as  will  give  me 
ten  thousand  dollars  clear  in  the  next  month,"  he  added,  as 
he  strove  to  collect  the  valuable  documents  again.  "  I  '11 
have  'em  here  by  Christmas,  if  I  live,  and  you  shall  eat 
your  Christmas  dinner  with  me,  York,  my  boy  —  you  shall, 
sure." 

With  his  tongue  now  fairly  loosened  by  liquor  and  the 
suggestive  vastness  of  his  prospects,  he  rambled  on  more 
or  less  incoherently,  elaborating  and  amplifying  his  plans  — 
occasionally  even  speaking  of  them  as  already  accomplished, 
until  the  moon  rode  high  in  the  heavens,  and  York  led  him 
again  to  his  couch.  Here  he  lay  for  some  time  muttering 
to  himself,  until  at  last  he  sank  into  a  heavy  sleep.  When 
York  had  satisfied  himself  of  the  fact,  he  gently  took  down 
the  picture  and  frame,  and,  going  to  the  hearth,  tossed 
them  on  the  dying  embers,  and  sat  down  to  see  them  burn. 

The  fir-cones  leaped  instantly  into  flame ;  then  the 
features  that  had  entranced  San  Francisco  audiences  nightly 
flashed  up  and  passed  away,  —  as  such  things  are  apt  to 
pass,  —  and  even  the  cynical  smile  on  York's  lips  faded  too. 
And  then  there  came  a  supplemental  and  unexpected  flash 
as  the  embers  fell  together,  and  by  its  light  York  saw  a 
paper  upon  the  floor.  It  was  one  that  had  fallen  from  the 
old  man's  pocket.  As  he  picked  it  up  listlessly  a  photo- 
graph slipped  from  its  folds.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  young 
girl,  and  on  its  reverse  was  written,  in  a  scrawling  hand, 
"  Melinda  to  Father." 

It  was  at  best  a  cheap  picture  ;  but,  ah  me  !  I  fear  even 
the  deft  graciousnoss  of  the  highest  art  could  not  have 
softened  the  rigid  angularities  of  that  youthful  figure,  its 
self-complacent  vulgarity,  its  cheap  finery,  its  expressionless 
ill  favor.  York  did  not  look  at  it  the  second  time.  He 
turned  to  the  letter  for  relief. 

It  was  misspelled,   it  was  unpunctuated,   it  was  almost 


240  A   MONTE   FLAT    PASTORAL 

illegible,  it  was  fretful  in  tone  and  selfish  in  sentiment.  It 
was  not,  I  fear,  even  original  in  the  story  of  its  woes.  It 
was  the  harsh  recital  of  poverty,  of  suspicion,  of  mean 
makeshifts  and  compromises,  of  low  pains  and  lower  long- 
ings, of  sorrows  that  were  degrading,  of  a  grief  that  was 
pitiable.  Yet  it  was  sincere  in  a  certain  kind  of  vague 
yearning  for  the  presence  of  the  degraded  man  to  whom  it 
was  written  —  an  affection  that  was  more  like  a  confused 
instinct  than  a  sentiment. 

York  folded  it  again  carefully,  and  placed  it  beneath  the 
old  man's  pillow.  Then  he  returned  to  his  seat  by  the  fire. 
A  smile  that  had  been  playing  upon  his  face,  deepening  the 
curves  behind  his  mustache  and  gradually  overrunning  his 
clear  brown  eyes,  presently  faded  away.  It  was  last  to  go 
from  his  eyes,  and  it  left  there  —  oddly  enough  to  those 
who  did  not  know  him  —  a  tear. 

He  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  leaning  forward,  his  head 
upon  his  hands.  The  wind  that  had  been  striving  with  the 
canvas  roof  all  at  once  lifted  its  edges,  and  a  moonbeam 
slipped  suddenly  in,  and  lay  for  a  moment  like  a  shining 
blade  upon  his  shoulder.  And  knighted  by  its  touch, 
straightway  plain  Henry  York  arose  —  sustained,  high- 
purposed,  and  self-reliant ! 

The  rains  had  come  at  last.  There  was  already  a  visible 
greenness  on  the  slopes  of  Heavytree  Hill,  and  the  long 
white  track  of  the  Wingdam  road  was  lost  in  outlying 
pools  and  ponds  a  hundred  rods  from  Monte  Flat.  The 
spent  water-courses,  whose  white  bones  had  been  sinuously 
trailed  over  the  flat,  like  the  vertebrae  of  some  forgotten 
saurian,  were  full  again  ;  the  dry  bones  moved  once  more 
in  the  valley,  and  there  was  joy  in  the  ditches,  and  a  par- 
donable extravagance  in  the  columns  of  the  "  Monte  Flat 
Monitor."  "Never  before  in  the  history  of  the  county 
has  the  yield  been  so  satisfactory.  Our  contemporary  of 
the  '  Hillside  Beacon,'  who  yesterday  facetiously  alluded  to 


A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL  241 

the  fact  (?)  that  our  best  citizens  were  leaving  town,  in 
'  dug-outs/  on  account  of  the  flood,  will  be  glad  to  hear 
that  our  distinguished  fellow-townsman,  Mr.  Henrv  York, 
now  on  a  visit  to  his  relatives  in  the  East,  lately  took  with 
him,  in  his  '  dug-out,'  the  modest  sum  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  the  result  of  one  week's  clean-up.  We  can  im- 
agine," continued  that  sprightly  journal,  "  that  no  such 
misfortune  is  likely  to  overtake  Hillside  this  season.  And 
yet  we  believe  the  '  Beacon '  man  wants  a  railroad."  A 
few  journals  broke  out  into  poetry.  The  operator  at  Simp- 
son's Crossing  telegraphed  to  the  Sacramento  "  Universe  :  " 
"  All  day  the  low  clouds  have  shook  their  garnered  fullness 
down."  A  San  Francisco  journal  lapsed  into  noble  verse, 
thinly  distinguished  as  editorial  prose  :  "  Rejoice !  the  gentle 
rain  has  come,  the  bright  and  pearly  rain,  which  scatters 
blessings  on  the  hills,  and  sifts  them  o'er  the  plain. 
Rejoice,"  etc.  Indeed,  there  was  only  one  to  whom  the 
rain  had  not  brought  blessing,  and  that  was  Plunkett.  In 
some  mysterious  and  darksome  way,  it  had  interfered  with 
the  perfection  of  his  new  method  of  reducing  ores,  and 
thrown  the  advent  of  that  invention  back  another  season. 
It  had  brought  him  down  to  an  habitual  seat  in  the  bar- 
room, where,  to  heedless  and  inattentive  ears,  he  sat  and 
discoursed  of  the  East  and  his  family. 

No  one  disturbed  him.  Indeed,  it  was  rumored  that 
some  funds  had  been  lodged  with  the  landlord,  by  a  person 
or  persons  unknown,  whereby  his  few  wants  were  provided 
for.  His  mania  —  for  that  was  the  charitable  construction 
which  Monte  Flat  put  upon  his  conduct  —  was  indulged, 
even  to  the  extent  of  Monte  Flat's  accepting  his  invitation 
to  dine  with  his  family  on  Christmas  Day,  —  an  invitation 
extended  frankly  to  every  one  with  whom  the  old  man 
drank  or  talked.  But  one  day,  to  everybody's  astonish- 
ment, he  burst  into  the  bar-room,  holding  an  open  letter  in 
his  hand.  It  read  as  follows  :  — 


242  A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL 

Be  ready  to  meet  your  family  at  the  new  cottage  on 
Heavytree  Hill  on  Christmas  Day.  Invite  what  friends 
you  choose.  HENKY  YORK. 

The  letter  was  handed  round  in  silence.  The  old  man, 
with  a  look  alternating  between  hope  and  fear,  gazed  in  the 
faces  of  the  group.  The  Doctor  looked  up  significantly, 
after  a  pause.  "  It 's  a  forgery,  evidently,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice  ;  "  he  's  cunning  enough  to  conceive  it,  —  they 
always  are,  —  but  you  '11  find  he  '11  fail  in  executing  it. 
Watch  his  face  !  Old  man,"  he  said  suddenly,  in  a  loud, 
peremptory  tone,  "this  is  a  trick  —  a  forgery  —  and  you 
know  it.  Answer  me  squarely,  and  look  me  in  the  eye. 
Is  n't  it  so  ?  " 

The  eyes  of  Plunkett  stared  a  moment,  and  then  dropped 
weakly.  Then,  with  a  feebler  smile,  he  said,  "  You  're  too 
many  for  me,  boys.  The  Doc  's  right.  The  little  game  's 
up.  You  can  take  the  old  man's  hat."  and  so,  tottering, 
trembling,  and  chuckling,  he  dropped  into  silence  and  his 
accustomed  seat.  But  the  next  day  he  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten this  episode,  and  talked  as  glibly  as  ever  of  the 
approaching  festivity. 

And  so  the  days  and  weeks  passed,  until  Christmas  —  a 
bright,  clear  day,  warmed  with  south  winds,  and  joyous  with 
the  resurrection  of  springing  grasses  —  broke  upon  Monte 
Flat.  And  then  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  in  the 
hotel  bar-room,  and  Abner  Dean  stood  beside  the  old 
man's  chair,  and  shook  him  out  of  a  slumber  to  his  feet. 
"  Kouse  up,  old  man  !  York  is  here,  with  your  wife  and 
daughter  at  the  cottage  on  Heavytree.  Come,  old  man. 
Here,  boys,  give  him  a  lift,"  and  in  another  moment  a 
dozen  strong  and  willing  hands  had  raised  the  old  man,  and 
bore  him  in  triumph  to  the  street,  up  the  steep  grade  of 
Heavytree  Hill,  and  deposited  him,  struggling  and  confused, 
in  the  porch  of  a  little  cottage.  At  the  same  instant,  two 


A   MONTE   FLAT   PASTORAL  243 

women  rushed  forward,  but  were  restrained  by  a  gesture 
from  Henry  York.  The  old  man  was  struggling  to  his  feet. 
With  an  effort,  at  last,  he  stood  erect,  trembling,  his  eye 
fixed,  a  gray  pallor  on  his  cheek,  and  a  deep  resonance  in 
his  voice. 

"  It 's  all  a  trick,  and  a  lie  !  They  ain't  no  flesh  and 
blood  or  kin  o'  mine.  It  ain't  my  wife,  nor  child.  My 
daughter's  a  beautiful  girl  —  a  beautiful  girl  —  d'  ye  hear  ? 
She  's  in  New  York,  with  her  mother,  and  I  'm  going  to 
fetch  her  here.  I  said  I  'd  go  home,  and  I  've  been  home 
—  d'ye  hear  me  ?  — I've  been  home  !  It 's  a  mean  trick 
you  're  playin'  on  the  old  man.  Let  me  go,  d'  ye  hear  ? 
Keep  them  women  off  me  !  Let  me  go  !  I'm  going  — 
I  'm  going  home  !  " 

His  hands  were  thrown  up  convulsively  in  the  air,  and, 
half  turning  round,  he  fell  sideways  on  the  porch,  and  so  to 
the  ground.  They  picked  him  up  hurriedly ;  but  too  late. 
He  had  gone  home. 


BABY  SYLVESTER 

IT  was  at  a  little  mining  camp  in  the  California  Sierras 
that  he  first  dawned  upon  me  in  all  his  grotesque  sweetness. 

I  had  arrived  early  in  the  morning,  but  not  in  time  to 
intercept  the  friend,  who  was  the  object  of  my  visit.  He 
had  gone  "  prospecting,"  —  so  they  told  me  on  the  river,  — 
and  would  not  probably  return  until  late  in  the  afternoon. 
They  could  not  say  what  direction  he  had  taken  ;  they  could 
not  suggest  that  I  would  be  likely  to  find  him  if  I  followed. 
But  it  was  the  general  opinion  that  I  had  better  wait. 

I  looked  around  me.  I  was  standing  upon  the  bank  of 
the  river ;  and,  apparently,  the  only  other  human  beings  in 
the  world  were  my  interlocutors,  who  were  even  then 
just  disappearing  from  my  horizon  down  the  steep  bank 
toward  the  river's  dry  bed.  I  approached  the  edge  of  the 
bank. 

Where  could  I  wait  ? 

Oh,  anywhere ;  down  with  them  on  the  river-bar,  where 
they  were  working,  if  I  liked !  Or  I  could  make  myself  at 
home  in  any  of  those  cabins  that  I  found  lying  round  loose. 
Or,  perhaps  it  would  be  cooler  and  pleasanter  for  me  in  my 
friend's  cabin  on  the  hill.  Did  1  see  those  three  large  sugar- 
pines  ?  And,  a  little  to  the  right,  a  canvas  roof  and  chimney 
over  the  bushes?  Well  that  was  my  friend's  —  that  was 
Dick  Sylvester's  cabin.  I  could  stake  my  horse  in  that  little 
hollow,  and  just  hang  round  there  till  he  came.  I  would 
find  some  books  in  the  shanty  ;  I  could  amuse  myself  with 
them.  Or  I  could  play  with  the  baby. 

Do  what  ? 


BABY   SYLVESTER  245 

But  they  had  already  gone.  I  leaned  over  the  bank  and 
called  after  their  vanishing  figures,  — 

"  What  did  you  say  I  could  do  ?  " 

The  answer  floated  slowly  up  on  the  hot  sluggish  air,  — 

"  Pla-a-y  with  the  ba-hy." 

The  lazy  echoes  took  it  up  and  tossed  it  languidly  from 
hill  to  hill,  until  Bald  Mountain  opposite  made  some  inco- 
herent remark  about  the  baby,  and  then  all  was  still. 

I  must  have  been  mistaken.  My  friend  was  not  a  man 
of  family  ;  there  was  not  a  woman  within  forty  miles  of 
ihe  river-camp ;  he  never  was  so  passionately  devoted  to 
children  to  import  a  luxury  so  expensive.  I  must  have 
been  mistaken. 

I  turned  my  horse's  head  toward  the  hill.  As  we  slowly 
climbed  the  narrow  trail,  the  little  settlement  might  have 
been  some  exhumed  Pompeian  suburb,  so  deserted  and 
silent  were  its  habitations.  The  open  doors  plainly  disclosed 
each  rudely  furnished  interior,  —  the  rough  pine  table,  with 
the  scant  equipage  of  the  morning  meal  still  standing ;  the 
wooden  bunk,  with  its  tumbled  and  disheveled  blankets. 
A  golden  lizard  —  the  very  genius  of  desolate  stillness  —  had 
stopped  breathless  upon  the  threshold  of  one  cabin  ;  a 
squirrel  peeped  impudently  into  the  window  of  another ;  a 
woodpecker,  with  the  general  flavor  of  undertaking  which 
distinguishes  that  bird,  withheld  his  sepulchral  hammer 
from  the  coffin-lid  of  the  roof  on  which  he  was  profes- 
sionally engaged,  as  we  passed.  For  a  moment,  I  half 
regretted  that  I  had  not  accepted  the  invitation  to  the  river- 
bed ;  but,  the  next  moment,  a  breeze  swept  up  the  long, 
dark  canon,  and  the  waiting  files  of  the  pines  beyond  bent 
toward  me  in  salutation.  I  think  my  horse  understood  as 
well  as  myself  that  it  was  the  cabins  that  made  the  solitude 
human,  and  therefore  unbearable,  for  he  quickened  his 
pace,  and  with  a  gentle  trot  brought  me  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood  and  the  three  pines  that  stood  like  videttes  before  the 
Sylvester  outpost. 


246  BABY   SYLVESTER 

Unsaddling  my  horse  in  the  little  hollow,  I  unslung  the 
long  riata  from  the  saddlebow,  and  tethering  him  to  a  young 
sapling,  turned  toward  the  cahin.  But  I  had  gone  only  a 
few  steps  when  I  heard  a  quick  trot  hehind  me,  and  pool 
Pomposo,  with  every  fibre  tingling  with  fear,  was  at  my  heels. 
I  looked  hurriedly  around.  The  breeze  had  died  away,  and 
only  an  occasional  breath  from  the  deep-chested  woods, 
more  like  a  long  sigh  than  any  articulate  sound,  or  the  dry 
singing  of  a  cicala  in  the  heated  canon,  were  to  be  heard. 
I  examined  the  ground  carefully  for  rattlesnakes,  but  in  vain. 
Yet  here  was  Pomposo  shivering  from  his  arched  neck  to 
his  sensitive  haunches,  his  very  flanks  pulsating  with  terror. 
I  soothed  him  as  well  as  I  could,  and  then  walked  to  the 
edge  of  the  wood  and  peered  into  its  dark  recesses.  The 
bright  flash  of  a  bird's  wing,  or  the  quick  dart  of  a  squirrel, 
was  all  I  saw.  I  confess  it  was  with  something  of  super- 
stitious expectation  that  I  again  turned  toward  the  cabin. 
A  fairy  child,  attended  by  Titania  and  her  train,  lying  in 
an  expensive  cradle,  would  not  have  surprised  me ;  a  Sleep- 
ing Beauty,  whose  awakening  would  have  re-peopled  these 
solitudes  with  life  and  energy,  I  am  afraid  I  began  to  con- 
fidently look  for,  and  would  have  kissed  without  hesitation. 

But  I  found  none  of  these.  Here  was  the  evidence  of 
my  friend's  taste  and  refinement  in  the  hearth  swept  scru- 
pulously clean,  in  the  picturesque  arrangement  of  the  fur 
skins  that  covered  the  floor  and  furniture,  and  the  serape  1 
lying  on  the  wooden  couch.  Here  were  the  walls  fanci- 
fully papered  with  illustrations  from  the  "London  News  ;  " 
here  was  the  wood-cut  portrait  of  Mr.  Emerson  over  the 
chimney,  quaintly  framed  with  bluejays'  wings  ;  here  were 
his  few  favorite  books  on  the  swinging-shelf ;  and  here,  lying 
upon  the  couch,  the  latest  copy  of  "  Punch."  Dear  Dick  ! 
The  flour-sack  was  sometimes  empty,  but  the  gentle  satirist 
seldom  missed  his  weekly  visit.  . 

1  A  fine  Mexican  blanket,  used  as  an  outer  garment  for  riding. 


BABY   SYLVESTER  247 

I  threw  myself  on  the  couch  and  tried  to  read.  But  I 
soon  exhausted  my  interest  in  my  friend's  library,  and  lay 
there  staring  through  the  open  door  on  the  green  hillside 
beyond.  The  breeze  again  sprang  up,  and  a  delicious 
coolness,  mixed  with  the  rare  incense  of  the  woods,  stole 
through  the  cabin.  The  slumbrous  droning  of  bumblebees 
outside  the  canvas  roof,  the  faint  cawing  of  rooks  on  the 
opposite  mountain,  and  the  fatigue  of  my  morning  ride, 
began  to  droop  my  eyelids.  I  pulled  the  serajie  over  me 
as  a  precaution  against  the  freshening  mountain  breeze,  and 
in  a  few  moments  was  asleep.  • 

I  do  not  remember  how  long  I  slept.  I  must  have  been 
conscious,  however,  during  my  slumber,  of  my  inability  to 
keep  myself  covered  by  the  serajje,  for  I  awoke  once  or  twice 
clutching  it  with  a  despairing  hand  as  it  was  disappearing 
over  the  foot  of  the  couch.  Then  I  became  suddenly 
aroused  to  the  fact  that  my  efforts  to  retain  it  were  resisted 
by  some  equally  persistent  force,  and  letting  it  go,  I  was 
horrified  at  seeing  it  swiftly  drawn  under  the  couch.  At 
this  point  I  sat  vip,  completely  awake  ;  for  immediately  after, 
Avhat  seemed  to  be  an  exaggerated  muff  began  to  emerge 
from  under  the  couch.  Presently  it  appeared  fully,  drag- 
ging the  scrape  after  it.  There  was  no  mistaking  it  now  — 
it  was  a  baby  bear.  A  mere  suckling,  it  was  true  —  a  help- 
less roll  of  fat  and  fur  —  but  unmistakably,  a  grizzly  cub  ! 

I  cannot  recall  anything  more  irresistibly  ludicrous  than 
its  aspect  as  it  slowly  raised  its  small  wondering  eyes  to 
mine.  It  was  so  much  taller  in  its  haunches  than  its 
shoulders  —  its  fore  legs  were  so  disproportionately  small  — 
that  in  walking  its  hind  feet  invariably  took  precedence.  It 
was  perpetually  pitching  forward  over  its  pointed,  inoffensive 
nose,  and  recovering  itself  always,  after  these  involuntary 
somersaults,  with  the  gravest  astonishment.  To  add  to  its 
preposterous  appearance,  one  of  its  hind  feet  was  adorned 
by  a  shoe  of  Sylvester's,  into  which  it  had  accidentally  and 


248  BABY   SYLVESTER 

inextricably  stepped.  As  this  somewhat  impeded  its  first 
impulse  to  fly,  it  turned  to  me  ;  and  then,  possibly  recog- 
nizing in  the  stranger  the  same  species  as  its  master,  it 
paused.  Presently,  it  slowly  raised  itself  on  its  hind  legs, 
and  vaguely  and  deprecatingly  waved  a  baby  paw,  fringed 
with  little  hooks  of  steel.  I  took  the  paw  and  shook  it 
gravely.  From  that  moment  we  were  friends.  The  little 
affair  of  the  serape  was  forgotten. 

Nevertheless,  I  was  wise  enough  to  cement  our  friendship 
by  an  act  of  delicate  courtesy!  Following  the  direction  of 
his  eyes,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding,  on  a  shelf  near  the 
ridge-pole,  the  sugar-box  and  the  square  lumps  of  white 
sugar  that  even  the  poorest  miner  is  never  without.  While 
he  was  eating  them  I  had  time  to  examine  him  more  closely. 
His  body  was  a  silky,  dark,  but  exquisitely  modulated  gray, 
deepening  to  black  in  his  paws  and  muzzle.  His  fur  was 
excessively  long,  thick,  and  soft  as  eider-down,  the  cushions 
of  flesh  beneath  perfectly  infantine  in  their  texture  and  con- 
tour. He  was  so  very  young  that  the  palms  of  his  half- 
human  feet  were  still  tender  as  a  baby's.  Except  for  the 
bright  blue,  steely  hooks,  half  sheathed  in  his  little  toes, 
there  was  not  a  single  harsh  outline  or  detail  in  his  plump 
figure.  He  was  as  free  from  angles  as  one  of  Leda's  off- 
spring. Your  caressing  hand  sank  away  in  his  fur  with 
dreamy  languor.  To  look  at  him  long  was  an  intoxication 
of  the  senses  ;  to  pat  him  was  a  wild  delirium  ;  to  embrace 
him,  an  utter  demoralization  of  the  intellectual  faculties. 

When  he  had  finished  the  sugar  he  rolled  out  of  the  door 
with  a  half-diffident,  half-inviting  look  in  his  eye,  as  if  he 
expected  me  to  follow.  I  did  so,  but  the  sniffing  and 
snorting  of  the  keen-scented  Pomposo  in  the  hollow,  not 
only  revealed  the  cause  of  his  former  terror,  but  decided  me 
to  take  another  direction.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he 
concluded  to  go  with  me,  although  I  am  satisfied,  from  a 
certain  impish  look  in  his  eye,  that  he  fully  understood  and 


BABY    SYLVESTER  249 

rather  enjoyed  the  fright  of  Pomposo.  As  he  rolled  along 
at  my  side,  with  a  gait  not  unlike  a  drunken  sailor,  I  dis- 
covered that  his  long  hair  concealed  a  leather  collar  around 
his  neck,  which  bore  for  its  legend  the  single  word,  "  Baby  ! ;> 
I  recalled  the  mysterious  suggestion  of  the  two  miners. 
This,  then,  was  the  "  baby  "  with  whom  I  was  to  "  play." 

How  we  "  played  ;  "  how  Baby  allowed  me  to  roll  him 
down-hill,  crawling  and  puffing  up  again  each  time,  with 
perfect  good  humor  ;  how  he  climbed  a  young  sapling  after 
my  Panama  hat,  which  I  had  "  shied "  into  one  of  the 
topmost  branches  ;  how  after  getting  it  he  refused  to  de- 
scend until  it  suited  his  pleasure ;  liow  when  he  did  come 
down  he  persisted  in  walking  about  on  three  legs,  carrying 
my  hat,  a  crushed  and  shapeless  mass,  clasped  to  his 
breast  with  the  remaining  one ;  how  I  missed  him  at  last, 
and  finally  discovered  him  seated  on  a  table  in  one  of  the 
tenantless  cabins,  with  a  bottle  of  syrup  between  his  paws, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  extract  its  contents — these  and 
other  details  of  that  eventful  day  I  shall  not  weary  the 
reader  with  now.  Enough,  that  when  Dick  Sylvester  re- 
turned, I  was  pretty  well  fagged  out,  and  the  baby  was  rolled 
up,  an  immense  bolster  at  the  foot  of  the  couch,  asleep. 
Sylvester's  first  words  after  our  greeting  were,  — 

"  Is  n't  he  delicious  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.      Where  did  you  get  him  ?  " 

"Lying  under  his  dead  mother,  five  miles  from  here," 
said  Dick,  lighting  his  pipe.  "  Knocked  her  over  at  fifty 
yards  ;  perfectly  clean  shot  —  never  moved  afterwards  ! 
Baby  crawled  out,  scared  but  unhurt.  She  must  have  been 
carrying  him  in  her  mouth,  and  dropped  him  when  she 
faced  me,  for  he  was  n't  more  than  three  days  old,  and  not 
steady  on  his  pins.  He  takes  the  only  milk  that  comes  to 
the  settlement  —  brought  up  by  Adams'  Express  at  seven 
o'clock  every  morning.  They  say  he  looks  like  me.  Do 
you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Dick,  with  perfect  gravity,  stroking 


250  BABY   SYLVESTER 

his  hay-colored  mustaches,  and  evidently  assuming  his  best 
expression. 

I  took  leave  of  the  baby  early  the  next  morning  in 
Sylvester's  cabin,  and,  out  of  respect  for  Pomposo's  feelings, 
rode  by  without  any  postscript  of  expression.  But  the  night 
before  I  had  made  Sylvester  solemnly  swear  that,  in  the 
event  of  any  separation  between  himself  and  Baby,  it  should 
revert  to  me.  "  At  the  same  time,"  he  had  added,  "  it 's 
only  fair  to  say  that  I  don't  think  of  dying  just  yet,  old 
fellow,  and  I  don't  know  of  anything  jelse  that  would  part 
the  cub  and  me." 

Two  months  after  this  conversation,  as  I  was  turning 
over  the  morning's  mail  at  my  office  in  San  Francisco,  I 
noticed  a  letter  bearing  Sylvester's  familiar  hand.  But  it 
was  postmarked  "  Stockton,"  and  I  opened  it  with  some 
anxiety  at  once.  Its  contents  were  as  follows  :  — 

0  Frank  !  don't  you  remember  what  we  agreed  upon 
anent  the  baby  ?  Well,  consider  me  as  dead  for  the  next 
six  months,  or  gone  where  cubs  can't  follow  me  — East.  I 
know  you  love  the  baby  ;  but  do  you  think,  dear  boy  — 
now,  really,  do  you  think  you  could  be  a  father  to  it  ? 
Consider  this  well.  You  are  young,  thoughtless,  well-mean- 
ing enough ;  but  dare  you  take  upon  yourself  the  functions 
of  guide,  genius,  or  guardian  to  one  so  young  and  guileless  ? 
Could  you  be  the  Mentor  to  this  Telemachus  ?  Think  of 
the  temptations  of  a  metropolis.  Look  at  the  question 
well,  and  let  me  know  speedily,  for  I  've  got  him  as  far  as 
this  place,  and  he  's  kicking  up  an  awful  row  in  the  hotel- 
yard  and  rattling  his  chain  like  a  maniac.  Let  me  know 
by  telegraph  at  once.  SYLVESTER. 

P.  S.  Of  course  he  's  grown  a  little,  and  does  n't  take 
things  always  as  quietly  as  he  did.  He  dropped  rather 
heavily  on  two  of  Watson's  "  purps "  last  week,  and 
snatched  old  Watson  himself,  bald-headed,  for  interfering. 


BABY   SYLVESTER  251 

You  remember  Watson  :  for  an  intelligent  man,  he  knows 
very  little  of  California  fauna.  How  are  you  fixed  foi 
bears  on  Montgomery  Street  —  I  mean  in  regard  to  corrals 
and  things  ?  g. 

P.  P.  S.  He  's  got  some  new  tricks.  The  boys  have 
been  teaching  him  to  put  up  his  hands  with  them.  He 
slings  an  ugly  left.  .  S. 

I  am  afraid  that  my  desire  to  possess  myself  of  Baby 
overcame  all  other  considerations,  and  I  telegraphed  an  af- 
firmative at  once  to  Sylvester.  When  I  reached  my  lodg- 
ings late  that  afternoon,  my  landlady  was  awaiting  me  with 
a  telegram.  It-  was  two  lines  from  Sylvester  :  — 

All  right.  Baby  goes  down  on  night- boat.  Be  a  father 
to  him.  S. 

It  was  due,  then,  at  one  o'clock  that  night.  For  a 
moment  I  was  staggered  at  my  own  precipitation.  I  had 
as  yet  made  no  preparations  —  had  said  nothing  to  my 
landlady  about  her  new  guest.  I  expected  to  arrange 
everything  in  time ;  and  now,  through  Sylvester's  indecent 
haste,  that  time  had  been  shortened  twelve  hours. 

Something,  however,  must  be  done  at  once.  I  turned 
to  Mrs.  Brown.  I  had  great  reliance  in  her  maternal 
instincts  ;  I  had  that  still  greater  reliance,  common  to  our 
sex,  in  the  general  tender-heartedness  of  pretty  women. 
But  I  confess  I  was  alarmed.  Yet,  with  a  feeble  smile,  I  tried 
to  introduce  the  subject  with  classical  ease  and  lightness. 
I  even  said,  "  If  Shakespeare's  Athenian  clown,  Mrs. 
Brown,  believed  that  a  lion  among  ladies  was  a  dreadful 
thing,  what  must "  —  But  here  I  broke  down,  for  Mrs. 
Brown,  with  the  awful  intuition  of  her  sex,  I  saw  at  once 
was  more  occupied  with  my  manner  than  my  speech.  So 
I  tried  a  business  brusquerie,  and,  placing  the  telegram  ic 


252  BABY   SYLVESTER 

her  hand,  said  hurriedly,  "We  must  do  something  about 
this  at  once.  It 's  perfectly  absurd,  but  he  will  be  here  at  one 
to-night.  Beg  thousand  pardons,  but  business  prevented 
my  speaking  before "  —  and  paused,  out  of  breath  and 
courage. 

Mrs.  Brown  read  the  telegram  gravely,  lifted  her  pretty 
ayebrows,  turned  the  paper  over  and  looked  on  the  other 
side,  and  then,  in  a  remote  and  chilling  voice,  asked  me  if 
she  understood  me  to  say  that  the  mother  was  coming  also 

"  Oh,  dear  no,"  I  exclaimed,  with  considerable  relief  ;  "  the 
mother  is  dead,  you  know.  Sylvester  —  that  is  my  friend, 
who  sent  this  —  shot  her  when  the  baby  was  only  three  days 
old  "  —  But  the  expression  of  Mrs.  Brown's  face  at  this 
moment  was  so  alarming  that  I  saw  that  nothing  but  the 
fullest  explanation  would  save  me.  Hastily,  and  I  fear  not 
very  coherently,  I  told  her  all. 

She  relaxed  sweetly.  She  said  I  had  frightened  her  with 
my  talk  about  lions.  Indeed,  I  think  my  picture  of  poor 
Baby  —  albeit  a  trifle  highly  colored  —  touched  her  motherly 
heart.  She  was  even  a  little  vexed  at  what  she  called 
Sylvester's  "  hardrheartedness."  Still,  I  was  not  without 
some  apprehension.  It  was  two  months  since  I  had  seen 
him,  and  Sylvester's  vague  allusion  to  his  "  slinging  an  ugly 
left  "  pained  me.  I  looked  at  sympathetic  little  Mrs.  Brown, 
and  the  thought  of  Watson's  pups  covered  me  with  guilty 
confusion. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  agreed  to  sit  up  with  me  until  he  arrived. 
One  o'clock  came,  but  no  Baby.  Two  o'clock  —  three 
o'clock  passed.  It  was  almost  four  when  there  was  a  wild 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  outside,  and  with  a  jerk  a  wagon 
stopped  at  the  door.  In  an  instant  I  had  opened  it  and 
confronted  a  stranger.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  the 
horses  attempted  to  run  away  with  the  wagon. 

The  stranger's  appearance  was,  to  say  the  least,  discon- 
certing. His  clothes  were  badly  torn  and  frayed  ;  his  linen 


BABY   SYLVESTER  253 

sack  hung  from  his  shoulders  like  a  herald's  apron ;  one  of 
his  hands  was  bandaged ;  his  face  scratched,  and  there  was 
no  hat  on  his  disheveled  head.  To  add  to  the  general 
effect,  he  had  evidently  sought  relief  from  his  woes  in  drink, 
and  he  swayed  from  side  to  side  as  he  clung  to  the  door 
handle,  and  in  a  very  thick  voice  stated  that  he  had 
"  suthin' "  for  me  outside.  When  he  had  finished  the 
horses  made  another  plunge. 

Mrs.  Brown  thought  they  must  be  frightened  at  some- 
thing. 

"  Frightened  !  "  laughed  the  stranger  with  bitter  irony. 
"  Oh  no  !  Hossish  ain't  frightened  !  On'y  ran  away  four 
timesh  comiii'  here.  Oh  no  !  Nobody  's  frightened.  Every- 
thin'  's  all  ri'.  Ain't  it,  Bill  ?  "  he  said,  addressing  the 
driver.  "  On'y  been  overboard  twish ;  knocked  down  a 
hatchway  once.  Thash  nothin'  !  On'y  two  men  unner 
doctor's  ban's  at  Stockton.  Thash  nothin' !  Six  hunner 
dollarsh  cover  all  dammish." 

I  was  too  much  disheartened  to  reply,  but  moved  toward 
the  wagon.  The  stranger  eyed  me  with  an  astonishment 
that  almost  sobered  him. 

"  Do  you  reckon  to  tackle  that  animile  yourself  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  he  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot. 

I  did  not  speak,  but,  with  an  appearance  of  boldness 
I  was  far  from  feeling,  walked  to  the  wagon  and  called 
"  Baby !  " 

"All  ri'.     Cash  loosh  them  straps,  Bill,  and  stan'  clear." 

The  straps  were  cut  loose,  and  Baby — the  remorseless, 
the  terrible  —  quietly  tumbled  to  the  ground,  and  rolling  tc 
my  side,  rubbed  his  foolish  head  against  me. 

I  think  the  astonishment  of  the  two  men  was  beyond  any 
vocal  expression.  Without  a  word  the  drunken  stranger 
got  into  the  wagon  and  drove  away. 

And  Baby  ?  He  had  grown,  it  is  true,  a  trine  larger .; 
but  he  was  thin,  and  bore  the  marks  of  evident  ill  usage 


254  BABY   SYLVESTER 

His  beautiful  coat  was  matted  and  unkempt,  and  his  claws 
—  those  bright  steel  hooks  —  had  been  ruthlessly  pared  to 
the  quick.  His  eyes  were  furtive  and  restless,  and  the  old 
expression  of  stupid  good  humor  had  changed  to  one  of 
intelligent  distrust.  His  intercourse  with  mankind  had 
avidently  quickened  his  intellect  without  broadening  his 
moral  nature. 

I  had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  Mrs.  Brown  from 
smothering  him  in  blankets  and  ruining  his  digestion  with 
the  delicacies  of  her  larder ;  but  I  at  last  got  him  completely 
rolled  up  in  the  corner  of  my  room  and  asleep.  I  lay 
awake  some  time  later  with  plans  for  his  future.  I  finally 
determined  to  take  him  to  Oakland,  where  I  had  built  a 
little  cottage  and  always  spent  my  Sundays,  the  very  next 
day.  And  in  the  midst  of  a  rosy  picture  of  domestic 
felicity  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  broad  day.  My  eyes  at  once 
sought  the  corner  where  Baby  had  been-  lying.  But  he  was 
gone.  I  sprang  from  the  bed,  lookedv  under  it,  searched 
the  closet,  but  in  vain.  The  door  was  still  locked  ;  but 
there  were  the  marks  of  his  blunted  claws  upon  the  sill  of 
the  window  that  I  had  forgotten  to  close.  He  had  evi- 
dently escaped  that  way  — but  where  ?  The  window  opened 
upon  a  balcony,  to  which  the  only  other  entrance  was 
through  the  hall.  He  must  be  still  in  the  house. 

My  hand  was  already  upon  the  bell-rope,  but  I  stayed  it 
in  time.  If  he  had  not  made  himself  known,  wlvy  should  I 
disturb  the  house  ?  I  dressed  myself  hurriedly  and  clipped 
into  the  hall.  The  first  object  that  met  my  eyes  was  a 
boot  lying  upon  the  stairs.  It  bore  the  marks  of  Baby's 
teeth,  and  as  I  looked  along  the  hall  I  saw  too  plainly 
that  the  usual  array  of  freshly  blackened  boots  and  shoes 
before  the  lodgers'  doors  was  not  there.  As  I  ascended 
the  stairs  I  found  another,  but  with  the  blacking  carefully 
licked  off.  On  the  third  floor  were  two  or  three  more 


BABY   SYLVESTER  255 

boots  slightly  mouthed ;  but  at  this  point  Baby's  taste  for 
blacking  had  evidently  palled.  A  little  farther  on  was  a 
ladder  leading  to  an  open  scuttle.  I  "mounted  the  ladder, 
and  reached  the  flat  roof  that  formed  a  continuous  level 
over  the  row  of  houses  to  the  corner  of  the  street.  Behind 
the  chimney  on  the  very  last  roof  something  was  lurking. 
It  was  the  fugitive  Baby.  He  was  covered  with  dust  and 
dirt  and  fragments  of  glass.  But  he  was  sitting  on  his 
hind  legs,  and  was  eating  an  enormous  slab  of  peanut 
candy  with  a  look  of  mingled  guilt  and  infinite  satisfaction. 
He  even,  I  fancied,  slightly  stroked  his  stomach  with  his 
disengaged  fore  paw  as  I  approached.  He  knew  that  I 
was  looking  for  him,  and  the  expression  of  his  eyes  said 
plainly,  "  The  past,  at  least,  is  secure." 

I  hurried  him,  with  the  evidences  of  his  guilt,  back  to 
the  scuttle,  and  descended  on  tiptoe  to  the  floor  beneath. 
Providence  favored  us ;  I  met  no  one  on  the  stairs,  and 
his  own  cushioned  tread  was  inaudible.  I  think  he  was 
conscious  of  the  dangers  of  detection,  for  he  even  forbore 
to  breathe,  or  much  less  chew  the  last  mouthful  he  had 
taken  ;  and  he  skulked  at  my  side,  with  the  syrup  dropping 
from  his  motionless  jaws.  I  think  he  would  have  silently 
choked  to  death  just  then  for  my  sake,  and  it  was  not 
until  I  had  reached  my  room  again,  and  threw  myself 
panting  on  the  sofa,  that  I  saw  how  near  strangulation  he 
had  been.  He  gulped  once  or  twice,  apologetically,  and 
then  walked  to  the  corner  of  his  own  accord,  and  rolled 
himself  up  like  an  immense  sugar-plum,  sweating  remorse 
and  treacle  at  every  pore. 

I  locked  him  in  when  I  went  to  breakfast,  when  I  found 
Mrs.  Brown's  lodgers  in  a  state  of  intense  excitement  over 
certain  mysterious  events  of  the  night  before,  and  the 
dreadful  revelations  of  the  morning.  It  appeared  that 
burglars  had  entered  the  block  from  the  scuttles ;  that, 
being  suddenly  alarmed,  they  had  quitted  our  house  with- 


256  BABY    SYLVESTER 

out  committing  any  depredation,  dropping  even  the  boots 
they  had  collected  in  the  halls  ;  but  that  a  desperate  attempt 
had  been  made  to  foroe  the  till  in  the  confectioner's  shop 
on  the  corner,  and  that  the  glass  show-case  had  been  ruth- 
lessly smashed.  A  courageous  servant  in  No.  4  had  seen 
a  masked  burglar,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  attempting  to 
enter  their  scuttle  ;  but  on  her  shouting,  "  Away  wid  yees," 
he  instantly  fled. 

I  sat  through  this  recital  with  cheeks  that  burned  un- 
comfortably ;  nor  was  I  the  less  embarrassed  on  raising  my 
eyes  to  meet  Mrs.  Brown's  fixed  curiously  and  mischievously 
on  mine.  As  soon  as  I  could  make  my  escape  from  the 
table  I  did  so,  and,  running  rapidly  upstairs,  sought  refuge 
from  any  possible  inquiry  in  my  own  room.  Baby  was  still 
asleep  in  the  corner.  It  would  not  be  safe  to  remove  him 
until  the  lodgers  had  gone  down-town,  and  I  was  revolving 
in  my  mind  the  expediency  of  keeping  him  until  night 
veiled  his  obtrusive  eccentricity  from  the  public  eye,  when 
there  came  a  cautious  tap  at  my  door.  I  opened  it.  Mrs. 
Brown  slipped  in  quietly,  closed  the  door  softly,  stood  with 
her  back  against  it  and  her  hand  on  the  knob,  and  beckoned 
me  mysteriously  toward  her.  Then  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice,  — 

"  Is  hair-dye  poisonous  ?  " 

I  was  too  confounded  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  do  !  you  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said  impatiently. 
"  This  stuff."  She  produced  suddenly  from  behind  her  a 
bottle  with  a  Greek  label  —  so  Jong  as  to  run  two  or  three 
times  spirally  around  it  from  top  to  bottom.  "  He  says  it 
is  n't  a  dye ;  it 's  a  vegetable  preparation,  for  invigorat- 
ing "— 

"  Who  says  ?  "  I  asked  despairingly. 

"Why,  Mr.  Parker,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  severely, 
with  the  air  of  having  repeated  the  name  a  great  many 
times,  — "  the  old  gentleman  in  the  room  above.  The 


BABY   SYLVESTEE  251} 

simple  question  I  want  to  ask,"  she  continued,  with  the 
calm  manner  of  one  who  had  just  convicted  another  of 
gross  ambiguity  of  language,  is  only  this  :  If  some  of  this 
stuff  were  put  in  a  saucer  and  left  carelessly  on  the  table, 
and  a  child,  or  a  baby,  or  a  cat,  or  any  young  animal,  should 
come  in^at  the  window  and  drink  it  up  —  a  whole  saucer 
f ul  —  because  it  had  a  sweet  taste,  would  it  be  likely  to 
hurt  them  ?  " 

I  cast  an  anxious  glance  at  Baby,  sleeping  peacefully  in 
the  corner,  and  a  very  grateful  one  at  Mrs.  Brown,  and 
said  I  didn't  think  it  would. 

"  Because,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  loftily,  as  she  opened  the 
door,  "  I  thought  if  it  was  poisonous,  remedies  might  be 
used  in  time.  Because,"  she  added  suddenly,  abandoning 
her  lofty  manner  and  wildly  rushing  to  the  corner,  with  a 
frantic  embrace  of  the  unconscious  Baby,  —  "  because  if  any 
nasty  stuff  should  turn  its  booful  hair  a  horrid  green  or  a 
naughty  pink,  it  would  break  his  own  muzzer's  heart,  it 
would  !  " 

But  before  I  could  assure  Mrs.  Brown  of  the  inefficiency 
of  hair-dye  as  an  internal  application,  she  had  darted  from 
the  room. 

That  night,  with  the  secrecy  of  defaulters,  Baby  and  I 
decamped  from  Mrs.  Brown's.  Distrusting  the  too  emo- 
tional nature  of  that  noble  animal,  the  horse,  I  had  recourse 
to  a  hand-cart,  drawn  by  a  stout  Irishman,  to  convey  my 
charge  to  the  ferry.  Even  then  Baby  refused  to  go  unless 
I  walked  by  the  cart,  and  at  times  rode  in  it. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  as  she  stood  by  the  door; 
wrapped  in  an  immense  shawl,  and  saw  us  depart,  —  "I  wish 
it  looked  less  solemn  —  less  like  a  pauper's  funeral." 

I  must  admit  that,  as  I  walked  by  the  cart  that  night,  I 
felt  very  much  as  if  I  were  accompanying  the  remains  of 
some  humble  friend  to  his  last  resting-place ;  and  that,  when 
I  was  obliged  to  ride  in  it,  I  never  could  entirely  convince 


§58  BABY   SYLVESTER 

myself  that  I  was  not  helplessly  overcome  hy  liquor,  or  the 
victim  of  an  accident,  en  route  to  the  hospital.  But  at  last 
we  reached  the  ferry.  On  the  boat  I  think  no  one  discov- 
ered Bahy  except  a  drunken  man,  who  approached  me  to 
ask  for  a  light  for  hL  cigar,  but  who  suddenly  dropped  it 
and  fled  in  dismay  to  the  gentlemen's  cabin,  where  his  inco- 
herent ravings  were  luckily  taken  for  the  earlier  indications 
of  delirium  tremens. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  I  reached  my  little  cottage 
on  the  outskirts  of  Oakland ;  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of 
relief  and  security  that  I  entered,  locked  the  door,  and 
turned  him  loose  in  the  hall,  satisfied  that  henceforward  his 
depredations  would  be  limited  to  my  own  property.  He 
was  very  quiet  that  night,  and  after  he  had  tried  to  mount 
the  hat-rack,  under  the  mistaken  impression  that  it  was  in- 
tended for  his  own  gymnastic  exercise,  and  knocked  all  the 
hats  off,  he  went  peaceably  to  sleep  on  the  rug. 

In  a  week,  with  the  exercise  afforded  him  by  the  run  of 
a  large,  carefully  boarded  inclosure,  he  recovered  his  health, 
strength,  spirits,  and  much  of  his  former  beauty.  His 
presence  was  unknown  to  my  neighbors,  although  it  was 
noticeable  that  horses  invariably  "  shied  "  in  passing  to  the 
windward  of  my  house,  and  that  the  baker  and  milkman 
had  great  difficulty  in  the  delivery  of  their  wares  in  the 
morning,  and  indulged  in  unseemly  and  unnecessary  pro- 
fanity in  so  doing. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  I  determined  to  invite  a  few 
friends  to  see  the  Baby,  and  to  that  purpose  wrote  a  num- 
ber of  formal  invitations.  After  descanting,  at  some  length, 
on  the  great  expense  and  danger  attending  his  capture  and 
training,  I  offered  a  programme  of  the  performances  of  the 
"  Infant  Phenomenon  of  Sierran  Solitudes,"  drawn  up  into 
the  highest  professional  profusion  of  alliteration  and  capital 
letters.  A  few  extracts  will  give  the  reader  some  idea  of 
bis  educational  progress  :  — 


BABY   SYLVESTER  259 

1.  He  will,  rolled  up  in  a  Eound  Ball,  roll  down  the  Wood 

Shed,  Rapidly,  illustrating  His  manner  of  Escaping 
from  His  Enemy  in  his  Native  Wilds. 

2.  He  will  Ascend   the  Well-Pole,  and  remove  from  the 

Very  Top  a  Hat,  and   as  much  of   the  Crown  and 
Brim  thereof  as  May  be  Permitted. 

3.  He  will    perform    in    a    pantomime,  descriptive    of  the 

Conduct  of  the  Big  Bear,  The  Middle-Sized  Bear,  and 
The  Little  Bear  of  the  Popular  Nursery  Legend. 

4.  He  will  shake  his  chain  Rapidly,  showing  his  Manner 

of    striking    Dismay  and    Terror    in    the  Breasts    of 
Wanderers  in  Ursine  Wildernesses. 

The  morning  of  the  exhibition  came,  but  an  hour  before 
the  performance  the  wretched  Baby  was  missing.  The 
Chinese  cook  could  not  indicate  his  whereabouts.  I 
searched  the  premises  thoroughly,  and  then,  in  despair, 
took  my  hat  and  hurried  out  into  the  narrow  lane  that  led 
toward  the  open  fields  and  the  woods  beyond.  But  I  found 
no  trace  nor  track  of  Baby  Sylvester.  I  returned,  after  an 
hour's  fruitless  search,  to  find  my  guests  already  assembled 
on  the  rear  veranda.  I  briefly  recounted  my  disappoint- 
ment, my  probable  loss,  and  begged  their  assistance. 

"Why,"  said  a  Spanish  friend,  who  prided  himself  on 
his  accurate  knowledge  of  English,  to  Barker,  who  seemed 
to  be  trying  vainly  to  rise  from  his  reclining  position  on 
the  veranda,  —  "  why  do  you  not  disengage  yourself  from  the 
veranda  of  our  friend  ?  and  why,  in  the  name  of  Heaven 
do  you  attach  to  yourself  so  much  of  this  thing,  and  make  to 
yourself  such  unnecessary  contortion  ?  Ah,"  he  continued, 
suddenly  withdrawing  one  of  his  own  feet  from  the  veranda 
with  an  evident  effort,  "  I  am  myself  attached !  Surely,  it 
is  something  here  !  " 

It  evidently  was.  My  guests  were  all  rising  with  diffi- 
culty,—  the  floor  of  the  veranda  was  covered  with  some 
glutinous  substance.  It  was  —  syrup! 


260  BABY    SYLVESTER 

I  saw  it  all  in  a  flash.  I  ran  to  the  barn  ;  the  keg  of 
"  golden  syrup,"  purchased  only  the  day  before,  lay  empty 
upon  the  floor.  There  were  sticky  tracks  all  over  the  in- 
closure,  but  still  no  Baby. 

"  There  's  something  moving  the  ground  over  there  by 
that  pile  of  dirt,"  said  Barker. 

He  was  right ;  the  earth  was  shaking  in  one  corner  of 
the  inclosure  like  an  earthquake.  I  approached  cautiously. 
I  saw,  what  I  had  not  before  noticed,  that  the  ground  was 
thrown  up ;  and  there,  in  the  middle  of  an  immense  grave- 
like  cavity,  crouched  Baby  Sylvester,  still  digging,  and 
slowly,  but  surely,  sinking  from  sight  in  a  mass  of  dust  and 
clay. 

What  were  his  intentions  ?  Whether  he  was  stung  by 
remorse,  and  wished  to  hide  himself  from  my  reproachful 
eyes,  or  whether  he  was  simply  trying  to  dry  hist  syrup- 
besmeared  coat,  I  never  shall  know,  for  that  day,  alas !  was 
his  last  with  me. 

He  was  pumped  upon  for  two  hours,  at  the  end  of  which 
time  he  still  yielded  a  thin  treacle.  He  was  then  taken  and 
carefully  enwrapped  in  blankets  and  locked  up  in  the 
storeroom.  The  next  morning  he  was  gone  I  The  lower 
portion  of  the  window  sash  and  pane  were  gone  too.  His 
successful  experiments  on  the  fragile  texture  of  glass  at  the 
confectioner's,' on  the  first  day  of  his  entrance  to  civilization, 
had  not  been  lost  upon  him.  His  first  essay  at  combining 
cause  and  effect  ended  in  his  escape. 

Where  he  went,  where  he  hid,  who  captured  him  if  he 
did  not  succeed  in  reaching  the  foothills  beyond  Oakland, 
even  the  offer  of  a  large  reward,  backed  by  the  efforts  of  an 
intelligent  police,  could  not  discover.  I  never  saw  him 
again  from  that  day  until  — 

Did  I  see  him  ?  I  was  in  a  horse-car  on  Sixth  Avenue, 
a  few  days  ago,  when  the  horses  suddenly  became  unmanage- 
able and  left  the  track  for  the  sidewalk,  amid  the  oaths  and 


BABY    SYLVESTER  261 

execrations  of  the  driver,  immediately  in  front  of  the  car 
a  crowd  had  gathered  around  two  performing  bears  and  a 
showman.  One  of  the  animals  —  thin,  emaciated,  and  the 
mere  wreck  of  his. native  strength  —  attracted  my  attention, 
I  endeavored  to  attract  his.  He  turned  a  pair  of  bleared, 
sightless  eyes  in  my  direction,  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
recognition.  I  leaned  from  the  car  window  and  called 
softly,  "  Baby  !  "  But  he  did  not  heed.  I  closed  the  win- 
dow. The  car  was  just  moving  on,  when  he  suddenly 
turned,  and,  either  by  accident  or  design,  thrust  a  callous 
paw  through  the  glass. 

"  It 's  worth  a  dollar  and  a  half  to  put  in  a  new  pane," 
said  the  conductor,  "  if  folks  will  play  with  bears  ! "  — 


WAN  LEE,  THE  PAGAN 

As  I  opened  Hop  Sing's  letter  there  fluttered  to  the 
ground  a  square  strip  of  yellow  paper  covered  with  hiero- 
glyphics, which  at  first  glance  I  innocently  took  to  be  the 
label  from  a  pack  of  Chinese  fire-crackers.  But  the  same 
envelope  also  contained  a  smaller  strip  of  rice  paper,  with 
two  Chinese  characters  traced  in  India  ink,  that  I  at  once 
knew  to  be  Hop  Sing's  visiting  card.  The  whole,  as  after- 
wards literally  translated,  ran  as  follows  :  — 

To  the  stranger  the  gates  of  my  house  are  not  closed ; 
the  rice-jar  is  on  the  left,  and  the  sweetmeats  on  the 
right,  as  you  enter. 
Two  sayings  of  the  Master  : 

Hospitality  is  the  virtue  of  the  son  -and  the  wisdom 

of  the  ancestor. 

The    superior    man    is  light-hearted    after  the  crop- 
gathering  ;  he  makes  a  festival. 

When  the  stranger  is  in  your  melon  patch  observe  him 
not  too  closely  ;   inattention  is  often  the  highest  form 
of  civility. 
Happiness,  Peace,  and  Prosperity.        HOP  SING. 

Admirable,  certainly,  as  was  this  morality  and  proverbial 
wisdom,  and  although  this  last  axiom  was  very  characteristic 
of  my  friend  Hop  Sing,  who  was  that  most  sombre  of  all 
humorists,  a  Chinese  philosopher,  I  must  confess  that,  even 
after  a  very  free  translation,  I  was  at  a  loss  to  make  any 
immediate  application  of  the  message.  Luckily  I  discovered 


WAN    LEE,   THE    PAGAN  263 

a  third  inclosure  in  the  shape  of  a  little  note  in  English  and 
Hop  Sing's  own  commercial  hand.      It  ran  thus  :  — 

The  pleasure  of  your  company  is  requested  at  No.  — i 
Sacramento  Street,  on  Friday  evening  at  eight  o'clock.  A 
cup  of  tea  at  nine  —  sharp.  HOP  SING. 

This  explained  all.  It  meant  a  visit  to  Hop  Sing's  ware- 
house, the  opening  and  exhibition  of  some  rare  Chinese 
novelties  and  curios,  a  chat  in  the  back  office,  a  cup  of  tea 
of  a  perfection  unknown  beyond  these  sacred  precincts, 
cigars,  and  a  visit  to  the  Chinese  Theatre  or  Temple.  This 
was  in  fact  the  favorite  programme  of  Hop  Sing  when  he 
exercised  his  functions  of  hospitality  as  the  chief  factor  or 
superintendent  of  the  Ning  Foo  Company. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  Friday  evening  I  entered  the  ware- 
house of  Hop  Sing.  There  was  that  deliciously  commingled 
mysterious  foreign  odor  that  I  had  so  often  noticed ;  there 
was  the  old  array  of  uncouth-looking  objects,  the  long  pro- 
cession of  jars  and  crockery,  the  same  singular  blending  of 
the  grotesque  and  the  mathematically  neat  and  exact,  the 
same  endless  suggestions  of  frivolity  and  fragility,  the  same 
want  of  harmony  in  colors  that  were  each,  in  themselves, 
beautiful  and  rare.  Kites  in  the  shape  of  enormous  dragons 
and  gigantic  butterflies ;  kites  so  ingeniously  arranged  as  to 
litter  at  intervals,  when  facing  the  wind,  the  cry  of  a  hawk  ; 
kites  so  large  as  to  be  beyond  any  boy's  power  of  restraint 
—  so  large  that  you  understood  why  kite-flying  in  China  was 
an  amusement  for  adults ;  gods  of  china  and  bronze  so 
gratuitously  ugly  as  to  be  beyond  any  human  interest  or 
sympathy  from  their  very  impossibility  ;  jars  of  sweetmeats 
covered  all  over  with  moral  sentiments  from  Confucius ; 
hats  that  looked  like  baskets,  and  baskets  that  looked  like 
hats  ;  silk  so  light  that  I  hesitate  to  record  the  incredible 
number  of  square  yards  that  you  might  pass  through  the 


264  WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN 

ring  on  your  little  finger  —  these  and  a  great  many  other  inde- 
scribable objects  were  all  familiar  to  me.  I  pushed  my  way 
through  the  dimly  lighted  warehouse  until  I  reached  the 
back  office  or  parlor,  where  I  found  Hop  Sing  waiting  to 
receive  me. 

Before  I  describe  him.  I  want  the  average  reader  to  dis- 
charge from  his  mind  any  idea  of  a  Chinaman  that  he 
may  have  gathered  from  the  pantomime.  He  did  not 
wear  beautifully  scalloped  drawers  fringed  with  little  bells 
—  I  never  met  a  Chinaman  who  did  ;  he  did  not  habitually 
carry  his  forefinger  extended  before  him  at  right  angles  with 
his  body,  nor  did  I  ever  hear  him  titter  the  mysterious  sen- 
tence, "  Ching  a  ring  a  ring  chaw,"  nor  dance  under  any  pro- 
vocation. He  was,  on  the  whole,  a  rather  grave,  decorous, 
handsome  gentleman.  His  complexion,  which  extended 
all  over  his  head  except  where  his  long  pig-tail  grew,  was 
like  a  very  nice  piece  of  glazed  brown  paper-muslin.  His 
eves  were  black  and  bright,  and  his  eyelids  set  at  an  angle 
of  15°  ;  his  nose  straight  and  delicately  formed,  his  mouth 
small,  and  his  teeth  white  and  clean.  He  wore  a  dark  blue 
silk  blouse,  and  in  the  streets  on  cold  days  a  short  jacket 
of  Astrakhan  fur.  He  wore  also  a  pair  of  drawers  of  blue 
brocade  gathered  tightly  over  his  calves  and  ankles,  offering 
a  general  sort  of  suggestion  that  he  had  forgotten  his  trousers 
that  morning,  but  that,  so  gentlemanly  were  his  manners, 
his  friends  had  forborne  to  mention  the  fact  to  him.  His 
manner  was  urbane,  although  quite  serious.  He  spoke 
French  and  English  fluently.  In  brief,  I  doubt  if  you 
could  have  found  the  equal  of  this  Pagan  shopkeeper 
among  the  Christian  traders  of  San  Francisco. 

There  were  a  few  others  present :  a  Judge  of  the  Federal 
Court,  an  editor,  a  high  government  official,  and  a  promi- 
nent merchant.  After  we  had  drunk  our  tea,  and  tasted 
a  few  sweetmeats  from  a  mysterious  jar,  that  looked  as  if  it 
might  contain  a  preserved  mouse  among  its  other  nonde- 


WAN   LEE,   THE    PAGAN  265 

fecript  treasures,  Hop  Sing  arose,  and  gravely  beckoning  us 
to  follow  him,  began  to  descend  to  the  basement.  When 
we  got  there,  we  were  amazed  at  finding  it  brilliantly  lighted, 
and  that  a  number  of  chairs  were  arranged  in  a  half-circle 
on  the  asphalt  pavement.  When  he  had  courteously  seated 
us,  he  said,  — 

"  I  have  invited  you  to  witness  a  performance  which  I 
can  at  least  promise  you  no  other  foreigners  but  yourselves 
have  ever  seen.  Wang,  the  court  juggler,  arrived  here 
yesterday  morning.  He  has  never  given  a  performance 
outside  of  the  palace  before.  I  have  asked  him  to  entertain 
my  friends  this  evening.  He  requires  no  theatre,  stage,  ac- 
cessories, or  any  confederate  —  nothing  more  than  you  see 
here.  Will  you  be  pleased  to  examine  the  ground  your- 
selves, gentlemen." 

Of  course  we  examined  the  premises.  It  was  the 
ordinary  basement  or  cellar  of  the  San  Francisco  store- 
house, cemented  to  keep  out  the  damp.  We  poked  our 
sticks  into  the  pavement  and  rapped  on  the  walls  to  satisfy 
our  polite  host,  but  for  no  other  purpose.  WTe  were  quite 
content  to  be  the  victims  of  any  clever  deception.  For 
myself,  I  knew  I  was  ready  to  be  deluded  to  any  extent, 
and  if  I  had  been  offered  an  explanation  of  what  followed, 
I  should  have  probably  declined  it. 

Although  I  am  satisfied  that  Wang's  general  performance 
was  the  first  of  that  kind  ever  given  on  American  soil,  it  has 
probably  since  become  so  familiar  to  many  of  my  readers 
that  I  shall  not  bore  .them  with  it  here.  He  began  by  seu 
ting  to  flight,  with  the  aid  of  his  fan,  the  usual  number  of 
butterflies  made  before  our  eyes  of  little  bits  of  tissue-paper, 
and  kept  them  in  the  air  during  the  remainder  of  the  per- 
formance. I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  judge  trying 
to  catch  one  that  had  lit  on  his  knee,  and  of  its  evading 
him  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  living  insect.  And  even  at 
this  time  Wang,  still  plying  his  fan,  was  taking  chicken? 


266  WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN 

out  of  hats,  making  oranges  disappear,  .pulling  endless  yards 
of  silk  from  his  sleeve,  apparently  rilling  the  whole  area  of 
the  basement  with  goods  that  appeared  mysteriously  from 
the  ground,  from  his  own  sleeves,  from  nowhere !  He 
swallowed  knives  to  the  ruin  of  his  digestion  for  years  to 
come  ;  he  dislocated  every  limb  of  his  body  ;  he  reclined  in 
the  air,  apparently  upon  nothing.  But  his  crowning  per- 
formance, which  I  have  never  yet  seen  repeated,  was  the 
most  weird,  mysterious,  and  astounding.  It  is  my  apology 
for  this  long  introduction,  my  sole  excuse  for  writing  this 
article,  the  genesis  of  this  veracious  history. 

He  cleared  the  ground  of  its  encumbering  articles  for 
a  space  of  about  fifteen  feet  square,  and  then  invited  us  all 
to  walk  forward  and  again  examine  it.  We  did  so  gravely  ; 
there  was  nothing  but  the  cemented  pavement  below  to  be 
seen  or  felt.  He  then  asked  for  the  loan  of  a  handkerchief, 
and,  as  I  chanced  to  be  nearest  him,  I  offered  mine.  He 
took  it  and  spread  it  open  upon  the  floor.  Over  this  he 
spread  a  large  square  of  silk,  and  over  this  again  a  large 
shawl  nearly  covering  the  space  he  had  cleared.  He  then 
took  a  position  at  one  of  the  points  of  this  rectangle,  and 
began  a  monotonous  chant,  rocking  his  body  to  and  fro  in 
time  with  the  somewhat  lugubrious  air. 

We  sat  still  and  waited.  Above  the  chant  we  could  hear 
the  striking  of  the  city  clocks,  and  the  occasional  rattle  of 
a  cart  in  the  street  overhead.  The  absolute  watchfulness 
and  expectation,  the  dim,  mysterious  half-light  of  the  cellar, 
falling  in  a  gruesome  way  upon  the  misshapen  bulk  of  a 
Chinese  deity  in  the  background,  a  faint  smell  of  opium 
smoke  mingling  with  spice,  and  the  dreadful  uncertainty 
of  what  we  were  really  waiting  for,  sent  an  uncomfortable 
thrill  down  our  backs,  and  made  us  look  at  each  other  with 
a  forced  and  unnatural  smile.  This  feeling  was  heightened 
when  Hop  Sing  slowly  rose,  and,  without  a  word,  pointed 
with  his  finger  io  the  centre  of  the  shawl. 


WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN  267 

There  was  something  beneath  the  shawl !  Surely  —  and 
something  that  was  not  there  before.  At  first  a  mere  sug- 
gestion in  relief,  a  faint  outline,  but  growing  more  and 
more  distinct  and  visible,  every  moment.  The  chant  still 
continued,  the  perspiration  began  to  roll  from  the  singer's 
face,  gradually  the  hidden  object  took  upon  itself  a  shape 
and  bulk  that  raised  the  shawl  in  its  centre  some  five  or  six 
inches.  It  was  now  unmistakably  the  outline  of  a  small 
but  perfect  human  figure,  with  extended  arms  and  legs. 
One  or  two  of  us  turned  pale  ;  there  was  a  feeling  of  general 
uneasiness,  until  the  editor  broke  the  silence  by  a  gibe  that, 
poor  as  it  was,  was  received  with  spontaneous  enthusiasm. 
Then  the  chant  suddenly  ceased,  Wang  arose,  and,  with  a 
quick,  dexterous  movement,  stripped  both  shawl  and  silk 
away,  and  discovered,  sleeping  peacefully  upon  my  hand- 
kerchief, a  tiny  Chinese  baby  ! 

The  applause  and  uproar  which  followed  this  revelation 
ought  to  have  satisfied  Wang,  even  if  his  audience  Avas  a 
small  one ;  it  was  loud  enough  to  awaken  the  baby  —  a 
pretty  little  boy  about  a  year  old,  looking  like  a  Cupid  cut 
out  of  sandalwood.  He  was  whisked  away  almost  as 
mysteriously  as  he  appeared.  When  Hop  Sing  returned 
my  handkerchief  to  me  with  a  bow,  I  asked  if  the  juggler 
was  the  father  of  the  baby.  "  No  sabe  !  "  said  the  imper- 
turbable Hop  Sing,  taking  refuge  in  that  Spanish  form  of 
noncommittalism  so  common  in  California. 

"  But  does  he  have  a  new  baby  for  every  performance  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Perhaps  ;  who  knows  ?  " 

"  But  what  will  become  of  this  one  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  choose,  gentlemen,"  replied  Hop  Sing, 
with  a  courteous  inclination  ;  "  it  was  born  here  —  you 
are  its  godfathers." 

There  were  two  characteristic  peculiarities  of  any  Cali- 
foruian  assemblage  in  1856 :  it  was  quick  to  take  a  hint, 


268  WAN    LEE,   THE    PAGAN 

and  generous  to  the  point  of  prodigality  in  its  response  to 
any  charitable  appeal.  No  matter  how  sordid  or  avaricious 
the  individual,  he  could  not  resist  the  infection  of  sympathy. 
I  doubled  the  points  of  my  handkerchief  into  a  bag,  dropped 
a  coin  into  it,  and,  without  a  word,  passed  it  to  the  judge. 
He  quietly  added  a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece,  and  passed  it 
to  the  next ;  when  it  was  returned  to  me  it  contained  over 
a  hundred  dollars.  I  knotted  the  money  in  the  handker- 
chief, and  gave  it  to  Hop  Sing. 

"  For  the  baby,  from  its  godfathers." 

"  But  what  name  ?  "  said  the  judge.  There  was  a  run- 
ning fire  of  "  Erebus,"  "  Nox,"  "  Plutus,"  "  Terra  Gotta," 
"  Antaeus,"  etc.,  etc.  Finally  the  question  was  referred  to 
our  host. 

"  Why  not  keep  his  own  name,"  he  said  quietly,  — 
"  Wan  Lee  ?  "  And  he  did. 

And  thus  was  Wan  Lee,  on  the  night  of  Friday  the  5th 
of  March,  1856,  born  into  this  veracious  chronicle. 

The  last  form  of  the  " Northern  Star"  for  the  19th  of 
July,  1865,  —  the  only  daily  paper  published  in  Klamath 
County,  —  had  just  gone  to  press,  and  at  three  A.  M.  I  was 
putting  aside  my  proofs  and  manuscripts,  preparatory  to 
going  home,  when  I  discovered  a  letter  lying  under  some 
sheets  of  paper  which  I  must  have  overlooked.  The  enve- 
lope was  considerably  soiled,  it  had  no  postmark,  but  I  had 
no  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  hand  of  my  friend  Hop 
Sing.  I  opened  it  hurriedly,  and  read  as  follows :  — 

MY  DEAR  SIK,  —  I  do  not  know  whether  the  bearer 
will  suit  you,  but  unless  the  office  of  "  devil  "  in  your  news- 
paper is  a  purely  technical  one,  I  think  he  has  all  the 
qualities  required.  He  is  very  quick,  active,  and  intelli- 
gent ;  understands  English  better  than  he  speaks  it,  and 
makes  up  for  any  defect  by  his  habits  of  observation  and 


WAX    LEE,    THE    PAGAN  269 

imitation.  You  have  only  to  show  him  how  to  do  a  thing 
once,  and  he  will  repeat  it,  whether  it  is  an  offense  or  a 
virtue.  But  you  certainly  know  him  alread}7 ;  you  are  one 
of  his  godfathers,  for  is  he  not  Wan  Lee,  the  reputed  son  of 
Wang  the  conjurer,  to  whose  performances  I  had  the  honor 
to  introduce  you  ?  But  perhaps  you  have  forgotten  it. 

I  shall  send  him  with  a  gang  of  coolies  to  Stockton, 
thence  by  express  to  your  town.  If  you  can  use  him 
there,  you  will  do  me  a  favor,  and  probably  save  his  life, 
which  is  at  present  in  great  peril  from  the  hands  of  the 
younger  members  of  your  Christian  and  highly  civilized  race 
who  attend  the  enlightened  schools  in  San  Francisco. 

He  has  acquired  some  singular  habits  and  customs  from 
his  experience  of  Wang's  profession,  which  he  followed  for 
some  years,  until  he  became  too  large  to  go  in  a  hat,  or 
be  produced  from  his  father's  sleeve.  The  money  you  left 
with  me  has  been  expended  on  his  education ;  he  has  gone 
through  the  Tri-literal  Classics,  but,  I  think,  without  much 
benefit.  He  knows  but  little  of  Confucius,  and  absolutely 
nothing  of  Mencius.  Owing  to  the  negligence  of  his 
father,  he  associated,  perhaps,  too  much  with  American 
children. 

I  should  have  answered  your  letter  before,  by  post,  but 
I  thought  that  Wan  Lee  himself  would  be  a  better  mes- 
senger for  this.  Yours  respectfully, 

HOP  SING. 

And  this  was  the  long-delayed  answer  to  my  letter  to 
Hop  Sing.  But  where  was  "  the  bearer  "  ?  How  was  the 
letter  delivered  ?  I  summoned  hastily  the  foreman,  printers, 
and  office  boy,  but  without  eliciting  anything ;  no  one  had 
oeen  the  letter  delivered,  nor  knew  anything  of  the  bearer. 
A  few  days  later  'I  had  a  visit  from  my  laundry  man, 
Ah  Ri. 

"  You  wantee  debbil  ?     All  lightee  ;   me  catchee  him." 


270  WAN   LEE,   THE    PAGAN 

He  returned  in  a  few  moments  with  a  bright-looking 
Chinese  boy,  about  ten  years  old,  with  whose  appearance 
and  general  intelligence  I  was  so  greatly  impressed  that  I 
engaged  him  on  the  spot.  When  the  business  was  con- 
cluded, I  asked  his  name. 

"  Wan  Lee,"  said  the  boy. 

"  What !  Are  you  the  boy  sent  out  by  Hop  Sing  ? 
What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  not  coming  here  before, 
and  how  did  you  deliver  that  letter  ?  " 

Wan  Lee  looked  at  me  and  laughed.  "  Me  pitchee  in 
top  side  window." 

I  did  not  understand.  He  looked  for  a  moment  per- 
plexed, and  then,  snatching  the  letter  out  of  my  hand,  ran 
down  the  stairs.  After  a  moment's  pause,  to  my  great 
astonishment,  the  letter  came  flying  in  at  the  window, 
circled  twice  around  the  room,  and  then  dropped  gently  like 
a  bird  upon  my  table.  Before  I  had  got  over  my  surprise 
Wan  Lee  reappeared,  smiled,  looked  at  the  letter  and  then 
at  me,  said,  "  So,  John,"  and  then  remained  gravely  silent. 
I  said  nothing  further,  but  it  was  understood  that  this  was 
his  first  official  act. 

His  next  performance,  I  grieve  to  say,  was  not  attended 
with  equal  success.  One  of  our  regular  paper-carriers  fell 
sick,  and,  at  a  pinch,  Wan  Lee  was  ordered  to  fill  his  place. 
To  prevent  mistakes  he  was  shown  over  the  route  the 
previous  evening,  and  supplied  at  about  daylight  with  the 
usual  number  of  subscribers'  copies.  He  returned  after  an 
hour,  in  good  spirits  and  without  the  papers.  He  had 
delivered  them  all  he  said. 

Unfortunately  for  Wan  Lee,  at  about  eight  o'clock  indig- 
nant subscribers  began  to  arrive  at  the  office.  They  had 
received  their  copies  ;  but  how  ?  In  the  form  of  hard- 
pressed  canndii-balls,  delivered  by  a  single  shot  and  a  mere 
tour  de  force  through  the  glass  of  bedroom  windows. 
They  had  received  them  full  in  the  face,  like  a  baseball, 


WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN  271 

if  they  happened  to  be  up  and  stirring ;  they  had  received 
them  in  quarter  sheets,  tucked  in  at  separate  windows ; 
they  had  found  them  in  the  chimney,  pinned  against  the 
door,  shot  through  attic  windows,  delivered  in  long  slips 
through  convenient  keyholes,  stuffed  into  ventilators,  and 
occupying  the  same  can  with  the  morning's  milk.  One 
subscriber,  who  waited  for  some  time  at  the  office  door,  to 
have  a  personal  interview  with  Wan  Lee  (then  comfortably 
locked  in  my  bedroom),  told  me,  with  tears  of  rage  in  his 
eyes,  that  he  had  been  awakened  at  five  o'clock  by  a  most 
hideous  yelling  below  his  windows  ;  that  on  rising,  in  great 
agitation,  he  was  startled  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the 
"  Northern  Star,"  rolled  hard  and  bent  into  the  form  of 
a  boomerang  or  East  Indian  club,  that  sailed  into  the 
window,  described  a  number  of  fiendish  circles  in  the  room, 
knocked  over  the  light,  slapped  the  baby's  face,  "  took  " 
him  (the  subscriber)  "  in  the  jaw,"  and  then  returned  out 
of  the  window,  and  dropped  helplessly  in  the  area.  During 
the  rest  of  the  day  wads  and  strips  of  soiled  paper,  purport- 
ing to  be  copies  of  the  "  Northern  Star  "  of  that  morning's 
issue,  were  brought  indignantly  to  the  office.  An  admirable 
editorial  on  "  The  Resources  of  Humboldt  County,"  which 
I  had  constructed  the  evening  before,  and  which,  I  have 
reason  to  believe,  might  have  changed  the  whole  balance  of 
trade  during  the  ensuing  year,  and  left  San  Francisco  bank- 
rupt at  her  wharves,  was  in  this  way  lost  to  the  public. 

It  was  deemed  advisable  for  the  next  three  weeks  to 
keep  Wan  Lee  closely  confined  to  the  printing-office  and 
the  purely  mechanical  part  of  the  business.  Here  he 
developed  a  surprising  quickness  and  adaptability,  winning 
even  the  favor  and  good  will  of  the  printers  and  foreman, 
who  at  first  looked  upon  his  introduction  into  the  secrets  of 
their  trade  as  fraught  with  the  gravest  political  significance. 
He  learned  to  set  type  readily  and  neatly,  his  wonderful 
skill  in  manipulation  aiding  him  in  the  mere  mechanical 


272  WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN 

act,  and  his  ignorance  of  the  language  confining  him  simplj 
to  the  mechanical  effort  —  confirming  the  printer's  axiom 
that  the  printer  who  considers  or  follows  the  ideas  of  his 
copy  makes  a  poor  compositor.  He  would  set  up  deliber- 
ately long  diatribes  against  himself,  composed  by  his  fellow 
printers,  and  hung  on  his  hook  as  copy,  and  even  such  short 
sentences  as  "  Wan  Lee  is  the  devil's  own  imp,"  "  Wan 
Lee  is  a  Mongolian  rascal,"  and  bring  the  proof  to  me  with 
happiness  beaming  from  every  tooth  and  satisfaction  shining 
in  his  huckleberry  eyes. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  he  learned  to  retaliate 
on  his  mischievous  persecutors.  I  remember  one  instance 
in  which  his  reprisal  came  very  near  involving  me  in  a 
serious  misunderstanding.  Our  foreman's  name  was  Web- 
ster, and  Wan  Lee  presently  learned  to  know  and  recog- 
nize the  individual  and  combined  letters  of  his  name.  It 
was  during  a  political  campaign,  and  the  eloquent  and  fiery 
Colonel  Starbottle  of  Siskiyou  had  delivered  an  effective 
speech,  which  was  reported  especially  for  the  "  Northern 
Star."  In  a  very  sublime  peroration  Colonel  Starbottle 
had  said,  "  In  the  language  of  the  godlike  Webster,  I 
repeat "  —  and  here  followed  the  quotation,  which  I  have 
forgotten.  Now,  it  chanced  that  Wan  Lee,  looking  over 
the  galley  after  it  had  been  revised,  saw  the  name  of  his 
chief  persecutor,  and,  of  course,  imagined  the  quotation  his. 
After  the  form  was  locked  up,  Wan  Lee  took  advantage 
of  Webster's  absence  to  remove  the  quotation,  and  substi- 
tute a  thin  piece  of  lead,  of  the  same  size  as  the  type,  en- 
graved with  Chinese  characters,  making  a  sentence  which, 
I  had  reason  to  believe,  was  an  utter  and  abject  confession 
of  the  incapacity  and  offensiveness  of  the  Webster  family 
generally,  and  exceedingly  eulogistic  of  Wan  Lee  himself 
personally. 

The  next  morning's  paper  contained  Colonel  Staibottle's 
speech  in  full,  in  which  it  appeared  that  the  "  godlike*' 


WAN   LEE,   THE    PAGAN  273 

Webster  had  on  one  occasion  uttered  his  thoughts  in 
excellent  but  perfectly  enigmatical  Chinese.  The  rage  of 
Colonel  Starbottle  knew  no  bounds.  I  have  a  vivid  recol- 
lection of  that  admirable  man  walking  into  my  office  and 
demanding  a  retraction  of  the  statement. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  I  asked,  "  are  you  willing  to  deny, 
over  your  own  signature,  that  Webster  ever  uttered  such  a 
sentence  ?  Dare  you  deny  that,  with  Mr.  Webster's  well- 
known  attainments,  a  knowledge  of  Chinese  might  not  have 
been  among  the  number  ?  Are  you  willing  to  submit  a 
translation  suitable  to  the  capacity  of  our  readers,  and  deny, 
upon  your  honor  as  a  gentleman,  that  the  late  Mr.  Web- 
ster ever  uttered  such  a  sentiment  ?  If  you  are,  sir,  I  am 
willing  to  publish  your  denial." 

The  Colonel  was  not,  and  left,  highly  indignant. 

Webster,  the  foreman,  took  it  more  coolly.  Happily  he 
was  unaware  that  for  two  days  after,  Chinamen  from  the 
laundries,  from  the  gulches,  from  the  kitchens,  looked  in 
the  front  office  door  with  faces  beaming  with  sardonic  de- 
light ;  that  three  hundred  extra  copies  of  the  "  Star  "  were 
ordered  for  the  wash-houses  on  the  river.  He  only  knew 
that  during  the  day  Wan  Lee  occasionally  went  off  into 
convulsive  spasms,  and  that  he  was  obliged  to  kick  him  into 
consciousness  again.  A  week  after  the  occurrence  I  called 
Wan  Lee  into  my  office. 

"  Wan,"  I  said  gravely,  "  I  should  like  you  to  give 
me,  for  my  own  personal  satisfaction,  a  translation  of  that 
Chinese  sentence  which  my  gifted  countryman,  the  late 
godlike  Webster,  uttered  upon  a  public  occasion."  Wan 
Lee  looked  at  me  intently,  and  then  the  slightest  possible 
twinkle  crept  into  his  black  eyes.  Then  he  replied,  with 
equal  gravity,  — 

"  Mishtel  Webstel,  —  he  say  :  '  China  boy  makee  me 
belly  much  foolee.  China  boy  makee  me  heap  sick.' " 
Which  I  have  reason  to  think  was  true. 


274  WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN 

But  I  fear  I  am  giving  but  one  side,  and  not  the  best,  of 
Wan  Lee's  character.  As  he  imparted  it  to  me,  his  had 
been  a  hard  life.  He  had  known  scarcely  any  childhood  — 
he  had  no  recollection  of  a  father  or  mother.  The  conjurer 
Wang  had  brought  him  up.  He  had  spent  the  first  seven 
years  of  his  life  in  appearing  from  baskets,  in  dropping  out 
of  hats,  in  climbing  ladders,  in  putting  his  little  limbs  out 
of  joint  in  posturing.  He  had  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of 
trickery  and  deception  ;  he  had  learned  to  look  upon  man- 
kind as  dupes  of  their  senses  ;  in  fine,  if  he  had  thought 
at  all,'  he  would  have  been  a  skeptic ;  if  he  had  been  a  little 
older,  he  would  have  been  a  cynic  ;  if  he  had  been  older 
still,  he  would  have  been  a  philosopher.  As  it  was,  he  was 
a  little  imp  !  A  good-natured  imp  it  was,  too,  —  an  imp 
whose  moral  nature  had  never  been  awakened,  an  imp  up 
for  a  holiday,  and  willing  to  try  virtue  as  a  diversion.  I 
don't  know  that  he  had  any  spiritual  nature ;  he  was  very 
supe'rstitious ;  he  carried  about  with  him  a  hideous  little 
porcelain  god,  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  alternately 
reviling  and  propitiating.  He  was  too  intelligent  for  the 
commoner  Chinese  vices  of  stealing  or  gratuitous  lying. 
Whatever  discipline  he  practiced  was  taught  by  his  intel- 
lect. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  his  feelings  were  not  alto- 
gether unimpressible,  —  although  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  extract  an  expression  from  him,  —  and  I  conscientiously 
believe  he  became  attached  to  those  that  were  good  to  him. 
What  he  might  have  become  under  more  favorable  con- 
ditions than  the  bondsman  of  an  overworked,  underpaid 
literary  man,  I  don't  know;  I  only  know  that  the  scant, 
irregular,  impulsive  kindnesses  that  I  showed  him  were 
gratefully  received.  He  was  very  loyal  and  patient  —  two 
qualities  rare  in  the  average  American  servant.  He  was 
like  Malvolio,  "  sad  and  civil  "  with  me ;  only  once,  and 
then  under  great  provocation,  do  I  remember  of  his  exhibit- 


WAN   LEE,   THE    PAGAN  275 

ing  any  impatience.  It  was  my  habit,  after  leaving  the 
office  at  night,  to  take  him  with  me  to  my  rooms,  as 
the  bearer  of  any  supplemental  or  happy  afterthought  in 
the  editorial  way,  that  might  occur  to  me  before  the  paper 
went  to  press.  One  night  I  had  been  scribbling  away  past 
the  usual  hour  of  dismissing  Wan  Lee,  and  had  become 
quite  oblivious  of  his  presence  in  a  chair  near  my  door? 
when  suddenly  I  became  aware  of  a  voice  saying,  in  plain- 
tive  accents,  something  that  sounded  like  "  Chy  Lee." 

I  faced  around  sternly. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"Me  say,  'Chy  Lee.'" 

"  Well  ?  "  I  said  impatiently. 

"  You  sabe,  '  How  do,  John '  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  sabe,  '  So  long,  John  '  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  '  Chy  Lee '  allee  same  !  " 

I  understood  him  quite  plainly.  It  appeared  that  "  Chy 
Lee  "  was  a  form  of  "  good-night,"  and  that  Wan  Lee  was 
anxious  to  go  home.  But  an  instinct  of  mischief  which  I 
fear  I  possessed  in  common  with  him,  impelled  me  to  act  as 
if  oblivious  of  the  hint.  I  muttered  something  about  not 
understanding  him,  and  again  bent  over  my  work.  In  a 
few  minutes  I  heard  his  wooden  shoes  pattering  patheti- 
cally over  the  floor.  I  looked  up.  He  was  standing  near 
the  door. 

"  You  no  sabe,  '  Chy  Lee '  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said  sternly. 

"  You  sabe  mubhee  big  foolee  !  —  allee  same  !  " 

And  with  this  audacity  upon  his  lips  he  fled.  The  next 
morning,  however,  he  was  as  meek  and  patient  as  before, 
and  I  did  not  recall  his  offense.  As  a  probable  peace- 
offering,  he  blacked  all  my  boots,  —  a  duty  never  required 
jf  him,  —  including  a  pair  of  buff  deerskin  slippers  and 


276  WAN   LEE,   THE   PAGAN 

an  immense   pair  of  horseman's   jack-Loots,   on   which  he 
indulged  his  remorse  for  two  hours. 

I  have  spoken  of  his  honesty  as  heing  a  quality  of  his 
intellect  rather  than  his  principle,  but  I  recall  about  this 
time  two  exceptions  to  the  rule.  I  was  anxious  to  get 
some  fresh  eggs,  as  a  change  to  the  heavy  diet  of  a  mining 
town,  and  knowing  that  Wan  Lee's  countrymen  were  great 
poultry-raisers,  I  applied  to  him.  He  furnished  me  with 
them  regularly  every  morning,  but  refused  to  take  any  pay, 
saying  that  the  man  did  not  sell  them,  —  a  remarkable 
instance  of  self-abnegation,  as  eggs  were  then  worth  half  a 
dollar  apiece.  One  morning,  my  neighbor,  Foster,  dropped 
in  upon  me  at  breakfast,  and  took  occasion  to  bewail  his 
own  ill  fortune,  as  his  hens  had  lately  stopped  laying,  or 
wandered  off  in  the  bush.  Wan  Lee,  who  was  present 
during  our  colloquy,  preserved  his  characteristic  sad  taci- 
turnity. When  my  neighbor  had  gone,  he  turned  to  me 
with  a  slight  chuckle  —  "  Flostel's  hens  —  Wan  Lee's  hens 
—  allee  same!"  His  other  offense  was  more  serious  and 
ambitious.  It  was  a  season  of  great  irregularities  in  the 
mails,  and  Wan  Lee  had  heard  me  deplore  the  delay  in  the 
delivery  of  my  letters  and  newspapers.  On  arriving  at  my 
office  one  day,  I  was  amazed  to  find  my  table  covered  with 
letters,  evidently  just  from  the  post-office,  but  unfortunately 
not  one  addressed  to  me.  I  turned  to  Wan  Lee,  who  was 
surveying  them  with  a  calm  satisfaction,  and  demanded  an 
explanation.  To  my  horror  he  pointed  to  an  empty  mail- 
bag  in  the  corner,  and  said,  "  Postman  he  say,  '  No  lettee, 
John  — no  lettee,  John.'  Postman  plentee  lie  !  Postman 
no  good.  Me  catchee  lettee  last  night  —  allee  same  !  " 
Luckily  it  was  still  early  ;  the  mails  had  not  been  dis- 
tributed ;  I  had  a  hurried  interview  with  the  postmaster, 
and  Wan  Lee's  bold  attempt  at  robbing  the  U.  S.  Mail  was 
finally  condoned,  by  the  purchase  of  a  new  mail-bag,  and 
the  whole  atfair  thus  kept  a  secret. 


WAN   LEE,   THE    PAGAN  277 

If  my  liking  for  my  little  pagan  page  had  not  been  suf- 
ficient, my  duty  to  Hop  Sing  was  enough  to  cause  me  to 
take  Wan  Lee  with  me  when  I  returned  to  San  Francisco, 
after  my  two  years'  experience  with  the  "  Northern  Star." 
I  do  not  think  he  contemplated  the  change  with  pleasure. 
I  attributed  his  feelings  to  a  nervous  dread  of  crowded 
public  streets  —  when  he  had  to  go  across  town  for  me  on 
an  errand,  he  always  made  a  long  circuit  of  the  outskirts ; 
to  his  dislike  for  the  discipline  of  the  Chinese  and  English 
school  to  which  I  proposed  to  send  him  ;  to  his  fondness 
for  the  free,  vagrant  life  of  the  mines ;  to  sheer  willfulness ! 
That  it  might  have  been  a  superstitious  premonition  did 
not  occur  to  me  until  long  after. 

Nevertheless  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  opportunity  I  had 
long  looked  for  and  confidently  expected  had  come,  —  the 
opportunity  of  placing  Wan  Lee  under  gently  restraining 
influences,  of  subjecting  him  to  a  life  and  experience  that 
would  draw  out  of  him  what  good  my  superficial  care  and 
ill-regulated  kindness  could  not  reach.  Wan  Lee  was 
placed  at  the  school  of  a  Chinese  missionary,  —  an  intel- 
ligent and  kind-hearted  clergyman,  who  had  shown  great 
interest  in  the  boy,  and  who,  better  than  all,  had  a  won- 
derful faith  in  him.  A  home  was  found  for  him  in  the 
family  of  a  widow,  who  had  a  bright  and  interesting 
daughter  about  two  years  younger  than  Wan  Lee.  It 
was  this  bright,  cheery,  innocent,  and  artless  child  that 
touched  and  reached  a  depth  in  the  boy's  nature  that 
hitherto  had  been  unsuspected  —  that  awakened  a  moral 
susceptibility  which  had  lain  for  years  insensible  alike  to 
the  teachings  of  society  or  the  ethics  of  the  theologian. 

These  few  brief  months,  bright  with  a  promise  that  we 
never  saw  fulfilled,  must  have  been  happy  ones  to  Wan  Lee. 
He  worshiped  his  little  friend  with  something  of  the  same 
superstition,  but  without  any  of  the  caprice,  that  he  bestowed 
upon  his  porcelain  Pagan  god.  It  was  his  delight  to  walk 


278  WAN    LEE,   THE   PAGAN 

behind  her  to  school,  carrying  her  books,  —  a  service  always 
fraught  with  danger  to  him  from  the  little  hands  of  his 
Caucasian  Christian  brothers.  He  made  her  the  most 
marvelous  toys;  he  would  cut  out  of  carrots  and  turnips 
the  most  astonishing  roses  and  tulips;  he  made  lifelike 
chickens  out  of  melon-seeds ;  he  constructed  fans  and  kites, 
and  was  singularly  proficient  in  the  making  of  dolls'  paper 
dresses.  On  the  other  hand  she  played  and  sang  to  him ; 
taught  him  a  thousand  little  prettinesses  and  refinements 
only  known  to  girls;  gave  him  a  yellow  ribbon  for  his 
pigtail,  as  best  suiting  his  complexion  ;  read  to  him  ;  showed 
him  wherein  he  was  original  and  valuable ;  took  him  to 
Sunday  -  school  with  her,  against  the  precedents  of  the 
school,  and,  small-womanlike,  triumphed.  I  wish  I  could 
add  here,  that  she  effected  his*  conversion,  and  made  him 
give  up  his  porcelain  idol,  but  I  am  telling  a  true  story,  and 
this  little  girl  was  quite  content  to  fill  him  with  her  own 
Christian  goodness,  without  letting  him  know  that  he  was 
changed.  So  they  got  along  very  well  together  —  this  little 
Christian  girl,  with  her  shining  cross  hanging  around  her 
plump,  white,  little  neck,  and  this  dark  little  Pagan,  with 
his  hideous  porcelain  god  hidden  away  in  his  blouse. 

There  were  two  days  of  that  eventful  year  which  will 
long  be  remembered  in  San  Francisco,  —  two  days  when  a 
mob  of  her  citizens  set  upon  and  killed  unarmed,  defense- 
less foreigners,  because  they  were  foreigners  and  of  another 
race,  religion,  and  color,  and  worked  for  what  wages 
they  could  get.  There  were  some  public  men  so  timid 
that,  seeing  this,  they  thought  that  the  end  of  the  world 
had  come ;  there  were  some  eminent  statesmen,  whose 
names  I  am  ashamed  to  write  here,  who  began  to  think 
that  the  passage  in  the  Constitution  which  guarantees 
civil  and  religious  liberty  to  every  citizen  or  foreigner  was 
a  mistake.  But  there  were  also  some  men  who  were  not 
so  =jasily  frightened,  and  in  twenty-four  hours  we  had 


WAN   LEE,   THE    PAGAN  279 

things  so  arranged  that  the  timid  men  could  wring  theii 
hands  in  safety,  and  the  eminent  statesmen  utter  their 
doubts  without  hurting  anybody  or  anything.  And  in  the 
midst  of  this  I  got  a  note  from  Hop  Sing,  asking  me  to 
come  to  him  immediately. 

I  found  his  warehouse  closed  and  strongly  guarded  by 
the  police  against  any  possible  attack  of  the  rioters.  Hop 
Sing  admitted  me  through  a  barred  grating  with  his  usual 
imperturbable  calm,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  with  more 
than  his  usual  seriousness.  Without  a  word  he  took  my 
hand  and  led  me  to  the  rear  of  the  room,  and  thence  down- 
stairs into  the  basement.  It  was  dimly  lighted,  but  there 
was  something  lying  on  the  floor  covered  by  a  shawl.  As 
I  approached,  he  drew  the  shawl  away  with  a  sudden  ges- 
ture, and  revealed  Wan  Lee,  the  Pagan,  lying  there  dead ! 

Dead,  my  reverend  friends,  dead !  Stoned  to  death  in 
the  streets  of  San  Francisco,  in  the  year  of  grace,  eighteen 
hundred  and  sixty-nine,  by  a  mob  of  half-grown  boys  and 
Christian  school-children  ! 

As  I  put  my  hand  reverently  upon  his  breast,  I  felt  some- 
thing, crumbling  beneath  his  blouse.  I  looked  inquiringly 
at  Hop  Sing.  He  put  his  hand  between  the  folds  of  silk, 
and  drew  out  something  with  the  first  bitter  smile  I  had 
ever  seen  on  the  face  of  that  Pagan  gentleman. 

It  was  Wan  Lee;s  porcelain  god,  crushed  by  a  stone  from 
the  hands  of  those  Christian  iconoclasts ! 


AN   HEIKESS   OF   BED   DOG 

THE  first  intimation  given  of  the  eccentricity  of  the  tes- 
tator was,  I  think,  in  the  spring  of  1854.  He  was  at 
that  time  in  possession  of  a  considerable  property,  heavily 
mortgaged  to  one  friend,  and  a  wife  of  some  attraction, 
on  whose  affections  another  friend  held  an  encumbering 
lien.  One  day  it  was  found  that  he  had  secretly  dug,  or 
caused  to  be  dug,  a  deep  trap  before  the  front  door  of 
his  dwelling,  into  which  a  few  friends,  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  casually  and  familiarly  dropped.  This  circum- 
stance, slight  in  itself,  seemed  to  point  to  the  existence  of 
a  certain  humor  in  the  man,  which  might  eventually  get 
into  literature,  although  his  wife's  lover  —  a  man  of  quick 
discernment,  whose  leg  was  broken  by  the  fall  —  took  other 
views.  It  was  some  weeks  later  that,  while  dining  with 
certain  other  friends  of  his  wife,  he  excused  himself  from 
the  table  to  quietly  reappear  at  the  front  window  with  a 
three-quarter-inch  hydraulic  pipe,  and  a  stream  of  water 
projected  at  the  assembled  company.  An  attempt  was 
made  to  take  public  cognizance  of  this,  but  a  majority  of 
the  citizens  of  Red  Dog  who  were  not  at  the  dinner, 
decided  that  a  man  had  a  right  to  choose  his  own  methods 
of  diverting  his  company.  Nevertheless,  there  were  some 
hints  of  his  insanity ;  his  wife  recalled  other  acts  clearly 
attributable  to  dementia  ;  the  crippled  lover  argued  from 
his  own  experience  that  the  integrity  of  her  limbs  could 
only  be  secured  by  leaving  her  husband's  house ;  and  the 
mortgagee,  fearing  a  further  damage  to  his  property,  fore- 
closed. But  here  the  causo  of  all  this  anxiety  took  matters 
into  his  own  hands,  and  disappeared. 


AN   HEIRESS   OF   KED   DOG  281 

When  we  next  heard  from  him,  he  had,  in  some  myste- 
rious way,  been  relieved  alike  of  his  wife  and  property,  and 
was  living  alone  at  Rockville,  fifty  miles  away,  and  editing 
a  newspaper.  But  that  originality  he  had  displayed  when 
dealing  with  the  problems  of  his  own  private  life,  when 
applied  to  politics  in  the  columns  of  the  "  Rockville  Van- 
guard "  was  singularly  unsuccessful.  An  amusing  exagger- 
ation, purporting  to  be  an  exact  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  opposing  candidate  had  murdered  his  Chinese 
laundryman,  was,  I  regret  to  say,  answered  only  by  assault 
and  battery.  A  gratuitous  and  purely  imaginative  descrip- 
tion of  a  great  religious  revival  in  Calaveras,  in  which  the 
sheriff  of  the  county  —  a  notoriously  profane  skeptic  —  was 
alleged  to  have  been  the  chief  exhorter,  resulted  only  in  the 
withdrawal  of  the  county  advertising  from  the  paper.  In 
the  midst  of  this  practical  confusion  he  suddenly  died.  It 
was  then  discovered,  as  a  crowning  proof  of  his  absurdity, 
that  he  had  left  a  will,  bequeathing  his  entire  effects  to  a 
freckle-faced  maid  servant  at  the  Rockville  Hotel.  But  that 
absurdity  became  serious  when  it  was  also  discovered  that 
among  these  effects  were  a  thousand  shares  in  the  Rising 
Sun  Mining  Co.,  which,  a  day  or  two  after  his  demise,  and 
while  people  were  still  laughing  at  his  grotesque  benefaction, 
suddenly  sprang  into  opulence  and  celebrity.  Three  mil- 
lions of  dollars  was  roughly  estimated  as  the  value  of  the 
estate  thus  wantonly  sacrificed  !  For  it  is  only  fair  to  state, 
as  a  just  tribute  to  the  enterprise  and  energy  of  that  young 
and  thriving  settlement,  that  there  was  not  probably  a 
single  citizen  who  did  not  feel  himself  better  able  to  control 
the  deceased  humorist's  property.  Some  had  expressed  a 
doubt  of  their  ability  to  support  a  family ;  others  had  felt 
perhaps  too  keenly  the  deep  responsibility  resting  upon  them 
when  chosen  from  the  panel  as  jurors,  and  had  evaded  their 
public  duties ;  a  few  had  declined  office  and  a  low  salary ; 
but  no  one  shrank  from  the  possibility  of  having  been  called 
upon  to  assume  the  functions  of  Peggy  Moffat  —  the  heiress. 


282  AN   HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG 

The  will  was  contested.  First  by  the  widow,  who,  it  no\r 
appeared,  had  never  been  legally  divorced  from  the  deceased  ; 
next  by  four  of  his  cousins,  who  awoke,  only  too  late,  to  a 
consciousness  of  his  moral  and  pecuniary  worth.  But  the 
humble  legatee  —  a  singularly  plain,  unpretending,  uned- 
ucated Western  girl  —  exhibited  a  dogged  pertinacity  in 
claiming  her  rights.  She  rejected  all  compromises.  A 
rough  sense  of  justice  in  the  community,  while  doubting 
her  ability  to  take  care  of  the  whole  fortune,  suggested  that 
she  ought  to  be  content  with  three  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars. "  She 's  bound  to  throw  even  that  away  on  some 
derned  skunk  of  a  man,  natoorally  ;  but  three  millions  is 
too  much  to  give  a  chap  for  makin'  her  onhappy.  It 's 
offering  a  temptation  to  cussedness."  The  only  opposing 
voice  to  this  counsel  came  from  the  sardonic  lips  of  Mr. 
Jack  Hamlin.  "  Suppose,"  suggested  that  gentleman,  turn- 
ing abruptly  on  the  speaker,  —  "suppose,  when  you  won 
twenty  thousand  dollars  of  me  last  Friday  night  —  suppose 
that  instead  of  handing  you  over  the  money  as  I  did  — 
suppose  I  'd  got  up  on  my  hmd  legs  and  said,  '  Look  yer, 
Bill  Wethersbee,  you  're  a  damned  fool.  If  I  give  ye  that 
twenty  thousand  you  '11  throw  it  away  in  the  first  skin  game 
m  'Frisco,  and  hand  it  over  to  the  first  short  card-sharp 
you  '11  meet.  There  's  a  thousand  —  enough  for  you  to 
fling  away  —  take  it  and  get ! '  Suppose  what  I  'd  said  to 
you  was  the  frozen  truth,  and  you  'd  know'd  it  —  would 
that  have  been  the  square  thing  to  play  on  you  ?  "  But 
here  Wethersbee  quickly  pointed  out  the  inefficiency  of  the 
comparison  by  stating  that  he  had  won  the  money  fairly 
with  a  stake.  "  And  how  do  you  know,"  demanded  Hamlin 
savagely,  bending  his  black  eyes  on  the  astounded  casuist,  — 
"  how  do  you  know  that  the  gal  hez  n't  put  down  a  stake  ?  " 
The  man  stammered  an  unintelligible  reply.  The  gambler 
laid  his  white  hand  on  Wethersbee's  shoulder.  "  Look  yer, 
old  man,"  he  said,  "  every  gal  stakes  her  whole  pile  —  you 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG  283 

can  bet  your  life  on  that  —  whatever  's  her  little  game.  If 
she  took  to  keerds  instead  of  her  feelings  —  if  she  'd  put  up 
'  chips '  instead  o'  body  and  soul,  she  'd  bust  every  bank 
'twixt  this  and  'Frisco  !  You  hear  me  ?  " 

Somewhat  of  this  idea  was  conveyed,  I  fear  not  quite 
as  sentimentally,  to  Peggy  Moffat  herself.  The  best  legaV 
wisdom  of  San  Francisco  retained  by  the  widow  and  rela- 
tives took  occasion,  in  a  private  interview  with  Peggy,  to 
point  out  that  she  stood  in  the  quasi-criminal  attitude  of 
having  unlawfully  practiced  upon  the  affections  of  an  insane 
elderly  gentleman,  with  a  view  of  getting  possession  of  his 
property,  and  suggested  to  her  that  no  vestige  of  her  moral 
character  would  remain  after  the  trial  —  if  she  persisted  in 
forcing  her  claims  to  that  issue.  It  is  said  that  Peggy,  on 
hearing  this,  stopped  washing  the  plate  she  had  in  her 
hands,  and,  twisting  the  towel  around  her  fingers,  fixed  her 
small  pale  blue  eyes  at  the  lawyer. 

"  And  ez  that  the  kind  o'  chirpin'  the  critters  keep 
up?" 

"  I  regret  to  say,  my  dear  young  lady,"  responded  the 
lawyer,  "  that  the  world  is  censorious.  I  must  add,"  he 
continued,  with  engaging  frankness,  "that  we  professional 
lawyers  are  apt  to  study  the  opinion  of  the  world  —  and 
that  such  will  be  the  theory  of — our  side." 

"  Then,"  said  Peggy  stoutly,  "  ez  I  allow  I  've  got  to  go 
into  court  to  defend  my  character,  I  might  as  well  pack 
in  them  three  millions  too." 

There  is  hearsay  evidence  that  Peg  added  to  this  speech 
a  wish  and  desire  to  "  bust  the  crust  "  of  her  traducers,  and, 
remarking  that  "  that  was  the  kind  of  hairpin  "  she  was, 
closed  the  conversation  with  an  unfortunate  accident  to  the 
plate,  that  left  a  severe  contusion  on  the  legal  brow  of  her 
companion.  But  this  story,  popular  in  the  bar-rooms  and 
gulches,  lacked  confirmation  in  higher  circles.  Better  au- 
thenticated was  the  legend  related  of  an  interview  with  her 


284  AN   HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG 

own  lawyer.  That  gentleman  had  pointed  out  to  her  the 
advantage  of  being  able  to  show  some  reasonable  cause  for 
the  singular  generosity  of  the  testator. 

"  Although,"  he  continued,  <c  the  law  does  not  go  back 
of  the  will  for  reason  or  cause  for  its  provisions,  it  would  be 
a  strong  point  with  the  judge  and  jury  —  particularly  if  the 
theory  of  insanity  were  set  up  —  for  us  to  show  that  the 
act  was  logical  and  natural.  Of  course  you  have  —  I  speak 
confidentially,  Miss  Moffat  —  certain  ideas  of  your  own  why 
the  late  Mr.  Byways  was  so  singularly  generous  to  you." 

"  No,  I  have  n't,"  said  Peg  decidedly. 

"Think  again.  Had  he  not  expressed -to  you — you 
understand  that  this  is  confidential  between  us,  although  I 
protest,  my  dear  young  lady,  that  I  see  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  be  made  public  —  had  he  not  given  utterance 
to  sentiments  of  a  nature  consistent  with  some  future 
matrimonial  relations  ?  "  But  here  Miss  Peg's  large  mouth, 
which  had  been  slowly  relaxing  over  her  irregular  teeth, 
stopped  him. 

"If  you  mean  he  wanted  to  marry  me  —  no  !  " 

"  I  see.  But  were  there  any  conditions  —  of  course  you 
know  the  law  takes  no  cognizance  of  any  not  expressed  in 
the  will ;  but  still,  for  the  sake  of  mere  corroboration  of 
the  bequest  —  do  you  know  of  any  conditions  on  which  he 
gave  you  the  property  ?  " 

"  You  mean,  did  he  want  anything  in  return  ?  " 

"Exactly,  my  dear  young  lady." 

Peg's  face  on  one  side  turned  a  deep  magenta  color,  on 
the  other  a  lighter  cherry,  while  her  nose  was  purple,  and 
her  forehead  an  Indian  red.  To  add  to  the  effect  of  this 
awkward  and  discomposing  dramatic  exhibition  of  embar- 
rassment, she  began  to  wipe  her  hands  on  her  dress,  and 
sat  silent. 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  lawyer  hastily.  "  No  matter — 
the  conditions  were  fulfilled." 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG  285 

•'No,"  said  Peg  amazedly ;  "how  could  they  be  until  he 
was  dead  ?  " 

It  was  the  lawyer's  turn  to  color  and  grow  embarrassed. 

"  He  did  say  something,  and  make  some  conditions/'  con- 
tinued Peg,  with  a  certain  firmness  through  her  awkward- 
ness ;  "  but  that 's  nobody's  business  but  mine  and  his'n. 
And  it 's  no  call  o'  yours  or  theirs." 

"But,  my  dear  Miss  Moffat,  if  these  very  conditions 
were  proofs  of  his  right  mind,  you  surely  would  not  object 
to  make  them  known,  if  only  to  enable  you  to  put  yourself 
in  a  condition  to  carry  them  out." 

"  But,"  said  Peg  cunningly,  "  'spose  you  and  the  Court 
did  n't  think  'em  satisfactory  ?  'Spose  you  thought  'em 
queer?  Eh?" 

With  this  helpless  limitation  on  the  part  of  the  defense, 
the  case  came  to  trial.  Eve^body  remembers  it :  how  for 
six  weeks  it  was  the  daily  food  of  Calaveras  County  ;  how 
for  six  weeks  the  intellectual  and  moral  and  spiritual  com- 
petency of  Mr.  James  Byways  to  dispose  of  his  property 
was  discussed  with  learned  and  formal  obscurity  in  the 
Court,  and  with  unlettered  and  independent  prejudice  by 
camp-fires  and  in  bar-rooms.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
when  it  was  logicall}'  established  that  at  least  nine  tenths 
of  the  population  of  Calaveras  were  harmless  lunatics,  and 
everybody  else's  reason  seemed  to  totter  on  its  throne,  an 
exhausted  jury  succumbed  one  day  to  the  presence  of  Peg 
in  the  court-room.  It  was  not  a  prepossessing  presence  at 
any  time;  but  the  excitement,  and  an  injudicious  attempt 
to  ornament  herself,  brought  her  defects  into  a  glaring  relief 
that  was  almost  unreal.  Every  freckle  on  her  face  stood 
out  and  asserted  itself  singly ;  her  pale  blue  eyes,  that  gave 
no  indication  of  her  force  of  character,  were  weak  and 
wandering,  or  stared  blankly  at  the  judge  ;  her  over-sized 
head,  broad  at  the  base,  terminating  in  the  scantiest  pos- 
sible light-colored  braid  in  the  middle  of  her  narrow  shoul- 


286  AN   HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG 

ders,  was  as  hard  and  uninteresting  as  the  wooden  spheres 
that  topped  the  railing  against  which  she  sat.  The  jury, 
who  for  six  weeks  had  had  her  described  to  them  by  the 
plaintiffs  as  an  arch,  wily  enchantress,  who  had  sapped  the 
failing  reason  of  Jim  Byways,  revolted  to  a  man.  There 
was  something  so  appallingly  gratuitous  in  her  plainness, 
that  it  was  felt  that  three  millions  was  scarcely  a  compen- 
sation for  it.  "  Ef  that  money  was  give  to  her,  she  earned 
it  sure,  boys  ;  it  wasn't  no  softness  of  the  old  man,"  said 
the  foreman.  When  the  jury  retired,  it  was  felt  that  she 
had  cleared  her  character.  When  they  reentered  the  room 
with  their  verdict,  it  was  known  that  she  had  been  awarded 
three  millions  damages  for  its  defamation. 

She  got  the  money.  But  those  who  had  confidently  ex- 
pected to  see  her  squander  it  were  disappointed.  On  the 
contrary,  it  was  presently  whispered  that  she  was  exceed- 
ingly penurious.  That  admirable  woman,  Mrs.  Stiver  of 
Red  Dog,  who  accompanied  her  to  San  Francisco  to  assist 
her  in  making  purchases,  was  loud  in  her  indignation. 
"  She  cares  more  for  two  bits 1  than  I  do  for  five  dollars. 
She  would  n't  buy  anything  at  the  '  City  of  Paris '  because 
it  was  '  too  expensive,'  and  at  last  rigged  herself  out,  a  per- 
fect guy,  at  some  cheap  slop-shops  in  Market  Street.  And 
after  all  the  care  Jane  and  me  took  of  her,  giving  up  our 
time  and  experience  to  her,  she  never  so  much  as  made  Jane 
a  single  present."  Popular  opinion,  which  regarded  Mrs 
Stiver's  attention  as  purely  speculative,  was  not  shocked  at 
this  unprofitable  denouement ;  but  when  Peg  refused  to  give 
anything  to  clear  the  mortgage  off  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
and  even  declined  to  take  shares  in  the  Union  Ditch,  con- 
sidered by  many  as  an  equally  sacred  and  safe  investment, 
she  began  to  lose  favor.  Nevertheless,  she  seemed  to  be 
as  regardless  of  public  opinion  as  she  had  been  before  the 
trial ;  took  a  small  house,  in  which  she  lived  with  an  old 
i  That  is,  tweuty-five  cents. 


AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG  287 

woman,  who  had  once  been  a  fellow  servant,  on,  apparently, 
terms  of  perfect  equality,  and  looked  after  her  money.  I 
wish  I  could  say  that  she  did  this  discreetly,  but  the  fact 
is,  she  blundered.  The  same  dogged  persistency  she  had 
displayed  in  claiming  her  rights  was  visible  in  her  unsuc- 
cessful ventures.  She  sunk  two  hundred  thousand  dollars 
in  a  worn-out  shaft  originally  projected  by  the  deceased 
testator.  She  prolonged  the  miserable  existence  of  the 
"  Eockville  Vanguard  "  long  after  it  had  ceased  to  interest 
even  its  enemies ;  she  kept  the  doors  of  the  Kockville 
Hotel  open  when  its  custom  had  departed  ;  she  lost  the 
cooperation  and  favor  of  a  fellow  capitalist  through  a  trifling 
misunderstanding  in  which  she  was  derelict  and  impeni- 
tent ;  she  had  three  lawsuits  on  her  hands  that  could  have 
been  settled  for  a  trifle.  I  note  these  defects  to  show  that 
she  was  by  no  means  a  heroine.  I  quote  her  affair  with 
Jack  Folinsbee  to  show  that  she  was  scarcely  the  average 
woman. 

That  handsome,  graceless  vagabond  had  struck  the  out- 
skirts of  Red  Dog  in  a  cyclone  of  dissipation,  which  left  him 
a  stranded  but  still  rather  interesting  wreck  in  a  ruinous 
cabin  not  far  from  Peg  Moffat's  virgin  bower.  Pale,  crip- 
pled from  excesses,  with  a  voice  quite  tremulous  from  sym- 
pathetic emotion  more  or  less,  developed  by  stimulants,  he 
lingered  languidly,  with  much  time  on  his  hands,  and  only 
a  few  neighbors.  In  this  fascinating  kind  of  general  des- 
habille of  morals,  dress,  and  the  emotions,  he  appeared 
before  Peg  Moffat.  More  than  that,  he  occasionally  limped 
with  her  through  the  settlement.  The  critical  eye  of  Red 
Dog  took  in  the  singular  pair,  —  Jack,  voluble,  suffering, 
apparently  overcome  by  remorse,  conscience,  vituperation, 
and  disease ;  and  Peg,  open-mouthed,  high-colored,  awkward, 
yet  delighted  ;  and  the  critical  eye  of  Red  Dog,  seeing  this, 
winked  meaningly  at  Rockville.  No  one  knew  what  passed 
between  them.  But  all  observed  that  one  summer  day  Jack 


288  AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG 

drove  down  the  main  street  of  Red  Dog  in  an  open  buggy, 
with  the  heiress  of  that  town  beside  him.  Jack,  albeit  a 
trifle  shaky,  held  the  reins  with  something  of  his  old  dash  ; 
and  Mistress  Peggy,  in  an  enormous  bonnet  with  pearl- 
colored  ribbons,  a  shade  darker  than  her  hair,  holding  in 
her  short  pink-gloved  fingers  a  bouquet  of  yellow  roses, 
absolutely  glowed  crimson  in  distressful  gratification  over 
the  dashboard.  So  these  two  fared  on  —  out  of  the  busy 
settlement,  into  the  woods,  against  the  rosy  sunset.  Pos- 
sibly it  was  not  a  pretty  picture ;  nevertheless,  as  the  dim 
aisles  of  the  solemn  pines  opened  to  receive  them,  miners 
leaned  upon  their  spades,  and  mechanics  stopped  in  their 
toil  to  look  after  them.  The  critical  eye  of  Red  Dog,  per- 
haps from  the  sun,  perhaps  from  the  fact  that  it  had  itself 
once  been  young  and  dissipated,  took  on  a  kindly  moisture 
as  it  gazed. 

The  moon  was  high  when  they  returned.  Those  who 
had  waited  to  congratulate  Jack  on  this  near  prospect  of  a 
favorable  change  in  his  fortunes  were  chagrined  to  find 
that,  having  seen  the  lady  safe  home,  he  had  himself  de- 
parted from  Red  Dog.  Nothing  was  to  be  gained  from 
Peg,  who,  on  the  next  day  and  ensuing  days,  kept  the  even 
tenor  of  her  way,  sunk  a  thousand  or  two  more  in  unsuc- 
cessful speculation,  and  made  no  change  in  her  habits  of 
personal  economy.  Weeks  passed  without  any  apparent 
sequel  to  this  romantic  idyl.  Nothing  was  known  definitely 
until  Jack,  a  month  later,  turned  up  in  Sacramento,  with  a 
billiard-cue  in  his  hand,  and  a  heart  overcharged  with 
indignant  emotion.  "  I  don't  mind  saying  to  you  gentle- 
men, in  confidence,"  said  Jack,  to  a  circle  of  sympathizing 
players,— "I  don't  mind  telling  you  regarding  this  thing, 
that  I  was  as  soft  on  that  freckled-faced,  red-eyed,  tallow- 
haired  gal  as  if  she  'd  been  —  a  —  a  —  an  actress.  And  I 
don't  mind  saying,  gentlemen,  that,  as  far  as  I  understand 
women,  she  was  just  as  soft  on  me!  You  kin  laugh,  but 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG  289 

it 's  so.  One  day  I  took  her  out  buggy -riding,  —  in  style, 
too,  —  and  out  on  the  road  I  offered  to  do  the  square  thing 
—  just  as  if  she  'd  been  a  lady  —  offered  to  marry  her  then 
and  there  !  And  what  did  she  do  ?  "  said  Jack  with  an 
hysterical  laugh.  "  Why,  blank  it  all !  offered  me  tiventy- 
five  dollars  a  week  allowance — pay  to  be  stopped  when  1 
was  n't  at  home  !  "  The  roar  of  laughter  that  greeted  this 
frank  confession  was  broken  by  a  quiet  voice  asking,  "And 
what  did  you  say  ?  "  "  Say  ?  "  screamed  Jack.  "  I  just 
told  her  to  —  with  her  money."  "  They  say,"  continued 
the  quiet  voice,  "  that  you  asked  her  for  the  loan  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  to  get  you  to  Sacramento  —  and 
that  you  got  it."  "  Who  says  so?"  roared  Jack ;  "show 
me  the  blank  liar."  There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  the 
possessor  of  the  quiet  voice,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin,  languidly 
reached  under  the  table,  took  the  chalk,  and  rubbing  the 
end  of  his  billiard-cue,  began  with  gentle  gravity  :  "  It  was 
an  old  friend  of  mine  in  Sacramento,  —  a  man  with  a  wooden 
leg,  a  game  eye,  three  fingers  on  his  right  hand,  and  a  con- 
sumptive cough.  Being  unable  naturally  to  back  himself, 
he  leaves  things  to  me.  So  for  the  sake  of  argument," 
continued  Hamlin,  suddenly  laying  down  his  cue,  and  fixing 
his  wicked  black  eyes  on  the  speaker,  "  say  it 's  me  !  " 

I  am  afraid  that  this  story,  whether  truthful  or  not,  did 
not  tend  to  increase  Peg's  popularity  in  a  community  where 
recklessness  or  generosity  condoned  for  the  absence  of  all 
the  other  virtues ;  and  it  is  possible  also  that  Red  Dog  was 
no  more  free  from  prejudice  than  other  more  civilized  but 
equally  disappointed  match-makers.  Likewise,  during  the 
following  years,  she  made  several  more  foolish  ventures,  and 
lost  heavily.  In  fact,  a  feverish  desire  to  increase  her  store 
at  almost  any  risk  seemed  to  possess  her.  At  last  it  was 
announced  that  she  intended  to  reopen  the  infelix  Rock- 
ville  Hotel,  and  keep  it  herself.  Wild  as  this  scheme  ap- 
peared in  theory,  when  put  into  practical  operation  there 


290  AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG 

seemed  to  be  some  chance  of  success.  Much,  doubtless,  was 
owing  to  her  practical  knowledge  of  hotel-keeping,  but  more 
to  her  rigid  economy  and  untiring  industry.  The  mistress 
of  millions,  she  cooked,  washed,  waited  on  table,  made  the 
beds,  and  labored  like  a  common  menial.  Visitors  were 
attracted  by  this  novel  spectacle.  The  income  of  the  house 
increased  as  their  respect  for  the  hostess  lessened.  No 
anecdote  of  her  avarice  was  too  extravagant  for  current 
belief.  It  was  even  alleged  that  she  had  been  known  to 
carry  the  luggage  of  guests  to  their  rooms,  that  she  might 
anticipate  the  usual  porter's  gratuity.  She  denied  herself 
the  ordinary  necessaries  of  life.  She  was  poorly  clad,  she 
was  ill  fed  —  but  the  hotel  was  making  money. 

A  few  hinted  at  insanity  ;  others  shook  their  heads,  and 
said  a  curse  was  entailed  on  the  property.  It  was  believed 
also,  from  her  appearance,  that  she  could  not  long  survive 
this  tax  on  her  energies,  and  already  there  was  discussion  as 
to  the  probable  final  disposition  of  her  property.  It  was 
the  particular  fortune  of  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  to  be  able  to  set 
the  world  right  on  this  and  other  questions  regarding  her. 

A  stormy  December  evening  had  set  in  when  he  chanced 
to  be  a  guest  of  the  Rockville  Hotel.  He  had  during  the 
past  week  been  engaged  in  the  prosecution  of  his  noble 
profession  at  Red  Dog,  and  had,  in  the  graphic  language  of 
a  coadjutor,  "  cleared  out  the  town,  except  his  fare  in  the 
pockets  of  the  stage-driver."  The  Red  Dog  "  Standard  " 
had  bewailed  his  departure  in  playful  obituary  verse,  begin- 
ning, "  Dear  Johnny,  thou  hast  left  us,"  wherein  the  rhymes 
"  bereft  us,"  and  "  deplore "  carried  a  vague  allusion  to 
"a  thousand  dollars  more."  A  quiet  contentment  naturally 
suffused  his  personality,  and  he  was  more  than  usually  lazy 
and  deliberate  in  his  speech.  At  midnight,  when  he  was 
about  to  retire,  he  was  a  little  surprised,  however,  by  a  tap 
on  his  door,  followed  by  the  presence  of  Mistress  Peg 
Moffat,  heiress,  and  landlady  of  Rockville  Hotel. 


AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG  291 

Mr.  Hamlin,  despite  his  previous  defense  of  Peg,  had  no 
liking  for  her.  His  fastidious  taste  rejected  her  uncomeli- 
ness  ;  his  habits  of  thought  and  life  were  all  antagonistic  to 
what  he  had  heard  of  her  niggardliness  and  greed.  As  she 
stood  there,  in  a  dirty  calico  wrapper,  still  redolent  with  the 
day's  cuisine,  crimson  with  embarrassment  and  the  recent 
heat  of  the  kitchen  range,  she  certainly  was  not  an  alluring 
apparition.  Happily  for  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  her  lone- 
liness, and  the  infelix  reputation  of  the  man  before  her,  she 
was  at  least  a  safe  one.  And  I  fear  the  very  consciousness 
of  this  scarcely  relieved  her  embarrassment. 

"  I  wanted  to  say  a  few  words  to  ye  alone,  Mr.  Hamlin," 
she  began,  taking  an  unoffered  seat  on  the  end  of  his  port- 
manteau, "  or  I  should  n't  hev  intruded.  But  it 's  the  only 
time  I  can  ketch  you,  or  you  me,  for  I'm  down  in  the 
kitchen  from  sun-up  till  now." 

She  stopped  awkwardly,  as  if  to  listen  to  the  wind  which 
was  rattling  against  the  windows,  and  spreading  a  film  of 
rain  against  the  opaque  darkness  without.  Then,  smooth- 
ing her  wrapper  over  her  knees,  she  remarked,  as  if  opening 
a  desultory  conversation,  "  Thar 's  a  power  of  rain  out- 
side." 

Mr.  Hamlin's  only  response  to  this  meteorological  obser- 
vation was  a  yawn,  and  a  preliminary  tug  at  his  coat  as  he 
began  to  remove  it. 

"  I  thought  ye  could  n't  mind  doin'  me  a  favor,"  con- 
tinued Peg,  with  a  hard,  awkward  laugh ;  "  partik'ly  seein' 
ez  folks  allowed  you  'd  sorter  been  a  friend  o'  mine,  and  hed 
stood  up  for  me  at  times  when  you  hed  n't  any  partikler  call 
to  do  it.  I  hev  n't,"  she  continued,  looking  down  on  her 
lap,  and  following  with  her  finger  and  thumb  a  seam  of  her 
gown,  —  "I  hev  n't  so  many  friends  ez  slings  a  kind  word 
for  me  these  times  that  I  disremember  them."  Her  under 
lip  quivered  a  little  here,  and  after  vainly  hunting  for  a  for- 
gotten handkerchief,  she  finally  lifted  the  hem  of  her  gown, 


292  AN   HEIRESS   OF    RED   DOG 

wiped  her  snub  nose  upon  it,  but  left  the  tears  still  in  her 
eyes  as  she  raised  them  to  the  man. 

Mr.  Hamlin,  who  had  by  this  time  divested  himself  of 
his  coat,  stopped  unbuttoning  his  waistcoat,  and  looked  at 
her. 

"  Like  ez  not  thar  '11  be  high  water  on  the  North  Fork,  ef 
this  rain  keeps  on,"  said  Peg,  as  if  apologetically,  looking 
toward  the  window. 

The  other  rain  having  ceased,  Mr.  Hamlin  began  to  un- 
button his  waistcoat  again. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  ye  a  favor  about  Mr.  —  about  —  Jack 
Folinsbee,"  began  Peg  again,  hurriedly.  "  He  's  ailin'  agin', 
and  is  mighty  low.  And  he  's  losin'  a  heap  o'  money  here 
and  thar,  and  mostly  to  you.  You  cleaned  him  out  of  two 
thousand  dollars  last  night  —  all  he  had." 
'  "  Well,"  said  the  gambler  coldly. 

"  Well,  I  thought  ez  you  woz  a  friend  o'  mine,  I  'd  ask  ye 
to  let  up  a  little  on  him,"  said  Peg,  with  an  affected  laugh. 
"  You  kin  do  it.  Don't  let  him  play  with  ye." 

"  Mistress  Margaret  Moffat,"  said  Jack,  with  lazy  delibera- 
tion, taking  off  his  watch  and  beginning  to  wind  it  up  ;  "  ef 
you  're  that  much  stuck  after  Jack  Folinsbee  you  kin  keep 
him  off  of  me  much  easier  than  I  kin.  You  're  a  rich  wo- 
man !  Give  him  enough  money  to  break  my  bank,  or  break 
himself  for  good  and  all ;  but  don't  keep  him  foolin'  round 
me,  in  hopes  to  make  a  raise.  It  don't  pay,  Mistress  Moffat, 
— it  don't  pay  !  " 

A  finer  nature  than  Peg's  would  have  misunderstood  or 
resented  the  gambler's  slang,  and  the  miserable  truths  that 
underlay  it.  But  she  comprehended  him  instantly,  and  sat 
hopelessly  silent. 

"  Ef  you  '11  take  my  advice,"  continued  Jack,  placing  his 
watch  and  chain  under  his  pillow,  and  quietly  unloosing  his 
cravat,  "  you  '11  quit  this  yer  foolin',  marry  that  chap,  and 
hand  over  to  him  the  money  and  the  money-makin'  that 's 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG  293 

killin'  you.  He  '11  get  rid  of  it  soon  enough.  I  don't  say 
this  because  /expect  to  git  it,  for  when  he  's  got  that  much  of 
a  raise,  he  '1L  make  a  break  for  'Frisco,  and  lose  it  to  some 
first-class  sport  there.  I  don't  say  neither  that  you  may  n't 

be  in  luck  enough  to  reform  him.      I  don't  say  neither and 

it 's  a  derned  sight  more  likely  —  that  you  may  n't  be  luckier 
yet  —  and  he  '11  up  and  die  afore  he  gits  rid  of  -your  money. 
But  I  do  say  you  '11  make  him  happy  now  ;  and  ez  I  reckon 
you  're  about  ez  badly  stuck  after  that  chap  ez  I  ever 
saw  any  woman,  you  won't  be  hurtin'  your  own  feelin's 
either !  " 

The  blood  left  Peg's  face  as  she  looked  up.  "  But  that 's 
why  I  can't  give  him  the  money— and  he  won't  marry  me 
without  it." 

Mr.  Hamlin's  hand  dropped  from  the  last  button  of  his 
waistcoat.  "  Can't  —  give  —  him  —  the  —  money  ?  "  he 
repeated  slowly. 

"  No." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  —  because  I  love  him." 

Mr.  Hamlin  rebuttoned  his  waistcoat,  and  sat  down 
patiently  on  the  bed.  Peg  rose,  and  awkwardly  drew  the 
portmanteau  a  little  bit  nearer  to  him. 

"  When  Jim  Byways  left  me  this  yer  property,"  she 
began,  looking  cautiously  around,  "  he  left  it  to  me  on 
conditions.  Not  conditions  ez  was  in  his  written  will  — 
but  conditions  ez  was  spoken.  A  promise  I  made  him  in 
this  very  room,  Mr.  Hamlin,  —  this  very  room,  and  on  that- 
very  bed  you  're  sittin'  on,  in  which  he  died." 

Like  most  gamblers,  Mr.  Hamlin  was  superstitious.  He 
rose  hastily  from  the  bed,  and  took  a  chair  beside  the 
window.  The  wind  shook  it  as  if  the  discontented  spirit  of 
Mr.  Byways  were  without,  reinforcing  his  last  injunction. 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  remember  him,"  said  Peg  feverishly. 
*  He  was  a  man  ez  hed  suffered.  All  that  he  loved  —  wife{ 


294  AN   HEIEESS   OF   RED   DOG 

fammerly,  friends  —  had  gone  back  on  him  !  He  tried  tc 
make  light  of  it  afore  folk ;  but  with  me,  being  a  poor  gal, 
he  let  himself  out.  I  never  told  anybody  this  —  I  don't 
know  why  he  told  me  —  I  don't  know,"  continued  Peg  with 
a  sniffle,  "  why  he  wanted  to  make  me  unhappy  too.  But 
he  made  me  promise  that  if  he  left  me  his  fortune  I  'd  never 
—  never,  so  help  me,  God  —  never  share  it  with  any  man  or 
woman  that  I  loved  !  I  did  n't  think  it  would  he  hard  to 
keep  that  promise  then,  Mr.  Hamlin,  for  I  was  very  poor, 
and  bed  n't  a  friend  nor  a  living  bein'  that  was  kind  to  me 
but  him." 

"  But  you  've  as  good  as  broken  your  promise  already," 
said  Hamlin  ;  "  you  've  given  Jack  money  —  as  I  know." 

"  Only  what  I  made  myself !  Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Hamlin. 
When  Jack  proposed  to  me,  I  offered  him  about  what  I  kal- 
kilated  I  could  earn  myself.  When  he  went  away,  and  was 
sick  and  in  trouble,  I  came  here  and  took  this  hotel.  I  knew 
that  by  hard  work  I  could  make  it  pay.  Don't  laugh  at  me, 
please.  I  did  work  hard,  and  did  make  it  pay  —  without 
takin'  one  cent  of  the  fortin'.  And  all  I  made,  workin'  by 
night  and  day,  I  gave  to  him.  I  did,  Mr.  Hamlin.  I  ain't 
so  hard  to  him  as  you  think  ;  though  1  might  be  kinder,  I 
know." 

Mr.  Hamlin  rose,  deliberately  resumed  his  coat,  watch, 
hat,  and  overcoat.  When  he  was  completely  dressed  again, 
he  turned  to  Peg. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  've  been  givin'  all  the 
money  you  make  here  to  this  A  1  first-class  cherubim  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  did  n't  know  where  I  got  it.  O  Mr.  Hamlin, 
he  did  n't  know  that !  " 

"  Do  I  understand  you  that  he  's  bin  bucking  agin  faro 
with  the  money  that  you  raised  on  hash  ?  And  you  makin' 
the  hash?" 

'  But  he  did  n't  know  that  —  he  would  n't  hev  took  it  ii 
1  d  told  him." 


AN   HEIRESS    OF   EEL    DOG  295 

"  No ;  he  'd  hev  died  fust !  "  said  Mr.  Hamlin  gravely. 
"  Why,  he  's  that  sensitive  —  is  Jack  Folinsbee  —  that  it 
nearly  kills  him  to  take  money  even  of  me.  But  where 
does  this  angel  reside  when  he  is  n't  fightin'  the  tiger,  and 
is,  so  to  speak,  visible  to  the  naked  eye  ?  " 

"  He  —  he  —  stops  here,"  said  Peg,  with  an  awkward 
blush. 

"  I  see.  Might  I  ask  the  number  of  his  room,  or  should 
I  be  a  —  disturbing  him  in  his  meditations  ?  "  continued 
Jack  Hamlin  with  grave  politeness. 

"  Oh,  then  you  '11  promise  ?  And  you  '11  talk  to  him, 
and  make  him  promise  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Hamlin  quietly. 

"  And  you  '11  remember  he  's  sick  —  very  sick  ?     His 
room's  No.   44,  at  the  end  of   the  hall.     Perhaps  I  had 
better  go  with  you  ?  " 
•"I '11  find  it." 

"  And  you  won't  be  too  hard  on  him  ?  " 

"I  '11  be  a  father  to  him,"  said  Hamlin  demurely,  as  he 
opened  the  door  and  stepped  into  the  hall.  But  he  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  and  then  turned  and  gravely  held  out  his 
hand.  Peg  took  it  timidly ;  he  did  not  seem  quite  in 
earnest  —  and  his  black  eyes,  vainly  questioned,  indicated 
nothing.  But  he  shook  her  hand  warmly,  and  the  nert 
moment  was  gone. 

He  found  the  room  with  no  difficulty.  A  faint  cough 
from  within,  and  a  querulous  protest,  answered  his  knock. 
Mr.  Hamlin  entered  without  further  ceremony.  A  sicken- 
ing smell  of  drugs,  a  palpable  flavor  of  stale  dissipation, 
and  the  wasted  figure  of  Jack  Folinsbee,  half  dressed, 
extended  upon  the  bed,  greeted  him.  Mr.  Hamlin  was, 
for  an  instant,  startled.  There  were  hollow  circles  round 
the  sick  man's  eyes,  there  was  palsy  in  his  trembling  limbs, 
there  was  dissolution  in  his  feverish  breath. 

"  What 's  up  ?  "  he  asked  huskily  and  nervously. 


296  AN   HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG 

"  I  am  ;  and  I  want  you  to  get  up  too.'' 

"  I  can't,  Jack.  I  'm  regularly  done  up."  He  reached 
his  shaking  hand  towards  a  glass  half  filled  with  suspicious, 
pungent-smelling  liquid,  hut  Mr.  Haralin  stayed  it. 

"  Do  you  want  to  get  hack  that  two  thousand  dollars  you 
lost  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  get  up  and  marry  that  woman  downstairs." 

Folinsbee  laughed  half  hysterically,  half  sardonically. 

"  She  won't  give  it  to  me." 

"  No,  but  /  will." 

"  You  ?  " 

11  Yes." 

Folinsbee,  with  an  attempt  at  a  reckless  laugh,  rose, 
trembling  and  with  difficulty,  to  his  swollen  feet.  Hamlin 
eyed  him  narrowly,  and  then  bade  him  lie  down  again. 
"  To-morrow  will  do,"  he  said,  "  and  then  "  — 

"  If  I  don't  "  — 

"  If  you  don't,"  responded  Hamlin,  "  why,  I  '11  just 
wade  in  and  cut  you  out !  " 

But  on  the  morrow  Mr.  Hamlin  was  spared  that  pos- 
sible act  of  disloyalty.  For  in  the  night  the  already 
hesitating  spirit  of  Mr.  Jack  Folinsbee  took  flight  on  the 
wi\7gs  of  the  southeast  storm.  When  or  how  it  happened, 
nobody  knew.  Whether  this  last  excitement  and  the  near 
prospect  of  matrimony,  or  whether  an  over-dose  of  ano- 
dyne had  hastened  his  end  was  never  known.  I  only 
know  that  when  they  came  to  awaken  him  the  next  morn- 
ing, the  best  that  was  left  of  him  —  a  face  still  beautiful 
and  boylike  —  looked  up  tearful  at  the  eyes  of  Peg  Moffat. 
"  It  serves  me  right  —  it 's  a  judgment,"  she  said  in  a  low 
whisper  to  Jack  Hamlin  ;  "  for  God  knew  that  I  'd  broken 
my  word  and  willed  all  my  property  to  him." 

She  did  not  long  survive  him.  Whether  Mr.  Hamlin 
ever  clothed  with  action  the  suggestion  indicated  in  his 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG  297 

speech  to  the  lamented  Jack  that  night  is  not  on  record. 
He  was  always  her  friend,  and  on  her  demise  became  her 
executor.  But  the  bulk  of  her  property  was  left  to  a  dis- 
tant relation  of  handsome  Jack  Folinsbee,  and  so  passed 
out  of  the  cor  trol  of  Ked  Dog  forever 


THE  MAJS  O:N  THE  BEACH 

CHAPTER  I 

HE  lived  beside  a  river  that  emptied  into  a  great  ocean. 
The  narrow  strip  of  land  that  lay  between  him  and  the 
estuary  was  covered  at  high  tide  by  a  shining  film  of  water, 
at  low  tide  with  the  cast-up  offerings  of  sea  and  shore.  Logs 
yet  green,  and  saplings  washed  away  from  inland  banks, 
battered  fragments  of  wrecks  and  orange  crates  of  bamboo, 
broken  into  tiny  rafts,  yet  odorous  with  their  lost  freight, 
lay  in  long  successive  curves  —  the  fringes  and  over-lappings 
of  the  sea.  At  high  noon  the  shadow  of  a  sea-gull's  wing, 
or  a  sudden  flurry  and  gray  squall  of  sandpipers,  themselves 
but  shadows,  was  all  that  broke  the  monotonous  glare  of 
the  level  sands. 

He  had  lived  there  alone  for  a  twelvemonth.  Although 
but  a  few  miles  from  a  thriving  settlement,  during  that  time 
his  retirement  had  never  been  intruded  upon,  his  seclusion 
remained  unbroken.  In  any  other  community  he  might 
have  been  the  subject  of  rumor  or  criticism,  but  the  miners 
at  Camp  Eogue  and  the  traders  at  Trinidad  Head,  themselves 
individual  and  eccentric,  were  profoundly  indifferent  to  all 
other  forms  of  eccentricity  or  heterodoxy  that  did  not  come 
in  contact  with  their  own.  And  certainly  there  was  no  form 
of  eccentricity  less  aggressive  than  that  of  a  hermit,  had  they 
chosen  to  give  him  that  appellation.  But  they  did  not 
even  do  that,  probably  from  lack  of  interest  or  perception. 
To  the  various  traders  who  supplied  his  small  wants  he  was 
known  as  "Kernel,"  "Judge,"  and  "Boss."  To  the 
general  public  "  The  Man  on  the  Beach  "  was  considered  r. 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  299 

sufficiently  distinguishing  title.  His  name,  his  occupation, 
rank,  or  antecedents,  nobody  cared  to  inquire.  Whether 
this  arose  from  a  fear  of  reciprocal  inquiry  and  interest,  or 
from  the  profound  indifference  before  referred  to,  I  cannot  say. 

He  did  not  look  like  a  hermit.  A  man  yet  young,  erect, 
well  dressed,  clean  shaven,  with  a  low  voice,  and  a  smile 
half  melancholy,  half  cynical,  was  scarcely  the  conventional 
idea  of  a  solitary.  His  dwelling,  a  rude  improvement  on  a 
fisherman's  cabin,  had  all  the  severe  exterior  simplicity  of 
frontier  architecture,  but  within  it  was  comfortable  and 
wholesome.  Three  rooms  —  a  kitchen,  a  living-room,  and 
a  bedroom  —  were  all  it  contained. 

He  had  lived  there  long  enough  to  see  the  dull  monotony 
of  one  season  lapse  into  the  dull  monotony  of  the  other. 
The  bleak  northwest  trade-winds  had  brought  him  mornings 
of  staring  sunlight  and  nights  of  fog  and  silence.  The 
warmer  southwest  trades  had  brought  him  clouds,  rain,  and 
the  transient  glories  of  quick  grasses  and  odorous  beach 
blossoms.  But  summer  or  winter,  wet  or  dry  season,  on 
one  side  rose  always  the  sharply  defined  hills  with  their 
changeless  background  of  evergreens ;  on  the  other  side 
stretched  always  the  illimitable  ocean,  as  sharply  defined 
against  the  horizon  and  as  unchanging  in  its  hue.  The 
onset  of  spring  and  autumn  tides,  some  changes  among  his 
feathered  neighbors,  the  footprints  of  certain  wild  animals 
along  the  river's  bank,  and  the  hanging  out  of  parti-colored 
signals  from  the  wooded  hillside  far  inland  helped  him  to 
record  the  slow  months.  On  summer  afternoons,  when  the 
sun  sank  behind  a  bank  of  fog  that,  moving  solemnly  shore- 
ward, at  last  encompassed  him  and  blotted  out  sea  and  sky, 
his  isolation  was  complete.  The  damp  gray  sea  that  flowed 
above  and  around  and  about  him  always  seemed  to  shut 
out  an  intangible  world  beyond,  and  to  be  the  only  real 
presence.  The  booming  of  breakers  scarce  a  dozen  rods 
from  his  dwelling  was  but  a  vague  and  unintelligible  sound. 


300  THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH 

or  the  echo  of  something  past  forever.  Every  morning 
when  the  sun  tore  away  the  misty  curtain  he  awoke,  dazed 
and  bewildered,  as  upon  a  new  world.  The  first  sense  of 
oppression  over,  he  came  to  love  at  last  this  subtle  spirit 
of  oblivion  ;  and  at  night,  when  its  cloudy  wings  wei'e  folded 
over  his  cabin,  he  would  sit  alone  with  a  sense  of  security 
he  had  never  felt  before.  On  such  occasions  he  was  apt 
to  leave  his  door  open,  and  listen  as  for  footsteps ;  for  what 
might  not  come  to  him  out  of  this  vague,  nebulous  world 
beyond  ?  Perhaps  even  she  ;  for  this  strange  solitary  was 
not  insane  nor  visionary.  He  was  never  in  spirit  alone. 
For  night  and  day,  sleeping  or  waking,  pacing  the  beach 
or  crouching  over  his  driftwood  fire,  a  woman's  face  was 
always  before  him,  —  the  face  for  whose  sake  and  for  cause 
of  whom  he  sat  there  alone.  He  saw  it  in  the  morning 
sunlight ;  it  was  her  white  hands  that  were  lifted  from  the 
crested  breakers ;  it  was  the  rustling  of  her  skirt  when  the 
sea -wind  swept  through  the  beach  -  grasses ;  it  was  the 
loving  whisper  of  her  low  voice  when  the  long  waves  sank 
and  died  among  the  sedge  and  rushes.  She  was  as 
omnipresent  as  sea  and  sky  and  level  sand.  Hence,  when 
the  fog  wiped  them  away,  she  seemed  to  draw  closer  to 
him  in  the  darkness.  On  one  or  two  more  gracious  nights 
in  midsummer,  when  the  influence  of  the  fervid  noonday 
sun  was  still  felt  on  the  heated  sands,  the  warm  breath  of 
the  fog  touched  his  cheeks  as  if  it  had  been  hers,  and  the 
tears  started  to  his  eyes. 

Before  the  fogs  came  —  for  he  arrived  there  in  winter  — 
lie  had  found  surcease  and  rest  in  the  steady  glow  of  a 
lighthouse  apon  the  little  promontory  a  league  below  his 
habitation.  Even  on  the  darkest  nights,  and  in  the 
tumults  of  storm,  it  spoke  to  him  of  a  patience  that  was 
enduring  and  a  steadfastness  that  was  immutable.  Later 
on  he  found  a  certain  dumb  companionship  in  an  uprooted 
tree,  which,  floating  down  the  river,  had  stranded  Impel  ess!  v 


A   WOMAN'S   FACE   WAS  ALWAYS   BEFORE   HIM 


THE   MAN   ON   THE    BEACH  301 

upon  his  beach,  but  in  the  evening  had  again  drifted  away. 
Rowing  across  the  estuary  a  day  or  two  afterward,  he 
recognized  the  tree  again  from  a  "  blaze"  of  the  settler's  axe 
still  upon  its  trunk.  He  was  not  surprised  a  week  later  to 
find  the  same  tree  in  the  sands  before  his  dwelling,  or  that 
the  next  morning  it  should  be  again  launched  on  its  pur- 
poseless wanderings.  And  so,  impelled  by  wind  or  tide, 
but  always  haunting  his  seclusion,  he  would  meet  it 
voyaging  up  the  river  at  the  flood,  or  see  it  tossing  among 
the  breakers  on  the  bar,  but  always  with  the  confidence  of 
its  returning  sooner  or  later  to  an  anchorage  beside  him. 
After  the  third  month  of  his  self-imposed  exile,  he  was 
forced  into  a  more  human  companionship,  that  was  brief 
but  regular.  He  was  obliged  to  have  menial  assistance. 
While  he  might  have  eaten  his  bread  "  in  sorrow  "  carelessly 
and  mechanically,  if  it  had  been  prepared  for  him,  the  oc- 
cupation of  cooking  his  own  food  brought  the  vulgarity  and 
materialness  of  existence  so  near  to  his  morbid  sensitiveness 
that  he  could  not  eat  the  meal  he  had  himself  prepared. 
He  did  not  yet  wish  to  die,  and  when  starvation  or  society- 
seemed  to  be  the  only  alternative,  he  chose  the  latter.  An 
Indian  woman,  so  hideous  as  to  scarcely  suggest  humanity, 
at  stated  times  performed  for  him  these  offices.  When  she 
did  not  come,  which  was  not  infrequent,  he  did  no{  eat. 

Such  was  the  mental  and  physical  condition  of  The  Man 
on  the  Beach  on  January  1,  1869. 

It  was  a  still,  bright  day,  following  a  week  of  rain  and 
wind.  Low  down  the  horizon  still  lingered  a  few  white 
flecks  —  the  flying  squadrons  of  the  storm  —  as  vague  as 
distant  sails.  Southward  the  harbor-bar  whitened  occa- 
sionally but  lazily  ;  even  the  turbulent  Pacific  swell  stretched 
its  length  wearily  upon  the  shore.  And  toiling  from  the 
settlement  over  the  low  sand-dunes,  a  carriage  at  last  halted 
half  a  mile  from  the  solitary's  dwelling. 


802  THE   MAN   ON   THE    BEACH 

"  I  reckon  ye  '11  hev  to  git  out  here,"  said  the  driver, 
pulling  up  to  breathe  his  panting  horses.  "  Ye  can't  git 
any  nigher." 

There  was  a  groan  of  execration  from  the  interior  of  the 
vehicle,  a  hysterical  little  shriek,  and  one  or  two  shrill 
expressions  of  feminine  disapprobation,  but  the  driver 
moved  not.  At  last  a  masculine  head  expostulated  from 
the  window  :  "  Look  here ;  you  agreed  to  take  us  to  the 
house.  Why,  it 's  a  mile  away  at  least !  " 

"  Thar,  or  tharabouts,  I  reckon,"  said  the  driver,  coolly 
crossing  his  legs  on  the  box. 

"  It's  no  use  talking  ;  /can  never  walk  through  this  sand 
and  horrid  glare,"  said  a  female  voice  quickly  and  im- 
peratively. Then,  apprehensively,  "  Well,  of  all  the 
places !  " 

"  Well,  I  never  !  " 

"  This  does  exceed  everything." 

"  It 's  really  too  idiotic  for  anything." 

It  was  noticeable  that  while  the  voices  betrayed  the 
difference  of  age  and  sex,  they  bore  a  singular  resemblance 
to  each  other,  and  a  certain  querulousness  of  pitch  that  was 
dominant. 

"  I  reckon  I  've  gone  about  as  fur  as  I  allow  to  go  with 
them  bosses,"  continued  the  driver  suggestively ;  "  and  as 
time  's  vallyble,  ye  'd  better  onload." 

"The  wretch  does  not  mean  to  leave  us  here  alone?" 
said  a  female  voice  in  shrill  indignation.  "  You  '11  wait  for 
us,  driver  ?  "  said  a  masculine  voice  confidently. 

"  How  long  ?  "  asked  the  driver. 

There  was  a  hurried  consultation  within.  The  words 
"  Might  send  us  packing."  "May  take  all  night  to  get  him 
to  listen  to  reason,"  "Bother!  whole  thing  over  in  ten 
minutes,"  came  from  the  window.  The  driver  meanwhile 
had  settled  himself  back  in  his  seat,  and  whistled  in  patient 
contempt  of  a  fashionable  fare  that  didn't  know  its  own 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  303 

mind  nor  destination.  Finally,  the  masculine  head  was 
thrust  out,  and,  with  a  certain  potential  air  of  judicially 
ending  a  difficulty,  said,  — 

"  You  're  to  follow  us  slowly,  and  put  up  your  horses  in 
the  stable  or  barn  until  we  want  you." 

An  ironical  laugh  burst  from  the  driver.  "  Oh  yes  —  in 
the  stable  or  barn  —  in  course.  But,  my  eyes  sorter  failin' 
me,  mebbee,  now,  some  ev  you  younger  folks  will  kindly 
pint  out  the  stable  or  barn  of  the  Kernel's.  Woa  !  —  will 
ye  ?  —  woa  !  Give  me  a  chance  to  pick  out  that  there  barn 
or  stable  to  put  ye  in  !  "  This  in  arch  confidence  to  the 
horses,  who  had  not  moved. 

Here  the  previous  speaker,  rotund,  dignified,  and  elderly, 
alighted  indignantly,  closely  followed  by  the  rest  of  the 
party,  two  ladies  and  a  gentleman.  One  of  the  ladies  was 
past  the  age,  but  not  the  fashion,  of  youth,  and  her  Parisian 
dress  clung  over  her  wasted  figure  and  well-bred  bones 
artistically  if  not  gracefully ;  the  younger  lady,  evidently 
her  daughter,  was  crisp  and  pretty,  and  carried  off  the 
aquiline  nose  and  aristocratic  emaciation  of  her  mother  with 
a  certain  piquancy  and  a  dash  that  was  charming.  The 
gentleman  was  young,  thin,  with  the  family  characteristics, 
but  otherwise  indistinctive. 

With  one  accord  they  all  faced  directly  toward  the  spot 
indicated  by  the  driver's  whip.  Nothing  but  the  bare, 
bleak,  rectangular  outlines  of  the  cabin  of  The  Man  on  the 
Beach  met  their  eyes.  All  else  was  a  desolate  expanse, 
unrelieved  by  any  structure  higher  than  the  tussocks  of  scant 
beach-grass  that  clothed  it.  They  were  so  utterly  helpless 
that  the  driver's  derisive  laughter  gave  way  at  last  to  good 
humor  and  suggestion.  "  Look  yer,"  he  said  finally,  "  I 
don't  know  ez  it 's  your  fault  you  don't  know  this  kentry  ez 
well  ez  you  do  Yurup  ;  so  I  '11  drag  this  yer  team  over  to 
Robinson's  on  the  river,  give  the  horses  a  bite,  and  then 
meander  down  this  yer  ridge,  and  wait  for  ye.  Ye  '11  see 


3(/4  THE    MAN   ON    THE    BEACH 

me  from  the  Kernel's."  And  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 
he  swung  his  horses'  heads  toward  the  river,  and  rolled 
away. 

The  same  querulous  protest  that  had  come  from  the 
windows  arose  from  the  group,  but  vainly.  Then  followed 
accusations  and  recrimination.  "  It 's  your  fault ;  you 
might  have  written,  and  had  him  meet  us  at  the  settlement." 
"  You  wanted  to  take  him  hy  surprise  !  "  "I  did  n't." 
"  You  know  if  I  'd  written  that  we  were  coming,  he  'd  have 
taken  good  care  to  run  away  from  us."  "  Yes,  to  some 
more  inaccessible  place."  "  There  can  be  none  worse  than 
this,"  etc.,  etc.  But  it  was  so  clearly  evident  that  nothing 
was  to  be  done  but  to  go  forward,  that  even  in  the  midst  of 
their  wrangling  they  straggled  on  in  Indian  file  toward  the 
distant  cabin,  sinking  ankle-deep  in  the  yielding  sand, 
punctuating  their  verbal  altercation  with  sighs,  and  only 
Abating  it  at  a  scream  from  the  elder  lady. 

"  Where  's  Maria  ?  " 

"  Gone  on  ahead  !  "  grunted  the  younger  gentleman,  in 
a  bass  voice,  so  incongruously  large  for  him  that  it  seemed 
to  have  been  a  ventriloquistic  contribution  by  somebody 
else. 

It  was  too  true.  Maria,  after  adding  her  pungency  to 
the  general  conversation,  had  darted  on  ahead.  But  alas  ! 
that  swift  Camilla,  after  scouring  the  plain  some  two 
hundred  feet  with  her  demi-train,  came  to  grief  on  an 
unbending  tussock  and  sat  down,  panting  but  savage.  As 
they  plodded  wearily  toward  her,  she  bit  her  red  lips, 
smacked  them  on  her  cruel  little  white  teeth  like  a  festive 
and  sprightly  ghoul,  and  lisped  :  — 

"  You  do  look  so  like  guys  !  For  all  the  world  like 
those  English  shopkeepers  we  met  on  the  Righi,  doing  the 
three-guinea  excursion  in  their  Sunday  clothes  !  " 

Certainly  the  spectacle  of  those  exotically  plumed  bipeds, 
whose  fine  feathers  were  already  bedrabbled  by  sand  and 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  305 

growing  limp  in  the  sea-breeze,  was  somewhat  dissonant 
with  the  rudeness  of  sea  and  sky  and  shore.  A  few  gulls 
screamed  at  them  ;  a  loon,  startled  from  the  lagoon,  arose 
shrieking  and  protesting,  with  painfully  extended  legs,  in 
obvious  burlesque  of  the  younger  gentleman.  The  elder 
lady  felt  the  justice  of  her  gentle  daughter's  criticism,  and 
retaliated  with  simple  directness,  — 

"  Your  skirt  is  ruined,  your  hair  is  coming  down,  your 
hat  is  half  off  your  head,  arid  your  shoes  —  in  Heaven's 
name,  Maria  !  what  have  you  done  with  your  shoes  ?  " 

Maria  had  exhibited  a  slim  stockinged  foot  from  under 
her  skirt.  It  was  scarcely  three  fingers  broad,  with  an  arch 
as  patrician  as  her  nose.  "  Somewhere  between  here  and 
the  carriage,"  she  answered.  "  Dick  can  run  back  and  find 
it,  while  he  is  looking  for  your  brooch,  mamma.  Dick  's  so 
obliging." 

The  robust  voice  of  Dick  thundered,  but  the  wasted 
figure  of  Dick  feebly  ploughed  its  way  back,  and  returned 
with  the  missing  buskin. 

"  I  may  as  well  carry  them  in  my  hand  like  the  market 
girls  at  Saumur,  for  we  have  got  to  wade  soon,"  said  Miss 
Maria,  sinking  her  own  terrors  in  the  delightful  contempla- 
tion of  the  horror  in  her  parent's  face,  as  she  pointed  to  a 
shining  film  of  water  slowly  deepening  in  a  narrow  swale  in 
the  sands  between  them  and  the  cabin. 

"It's  the  tide,"  said  the  elder  gentleman.  "If  we 
intend  to  go  on  we  must  hasten.  Permit  me,  my  dear 
madam "  —  and  before  she  could  reply  he  had  lifted  the 
astounded  matron  in  his  arms  and  made  gallantly  for  the 
ford.  The  gentle  Maria  cast  an  ominous  eye  on  her  brother, 
who,  with  manifest  reluctance,  performed  for  her  the  same 
office.  But  that  acute  young  lady  kept  her  eyes  upon  the 
preceding  figure  of  the  elder  gentleman,  and  seeing  him 
suddenly  and  mysteriously  disappear  to  his  armpits,  unhesi- 
tatingly threw  herself  from  her  brother's  protecting  arms,  — • 


306  THE   MAN   ON    THE    BEACH 

an  action  which  instantly  precipitated  him  into  the  water,  — 
and  paddled  hastily  to  the  opposite  bank,  where  she  even- 
tually assisted  in  pulling  the  elderly  gentleman  out  of  the 
hollow  into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  in  rescuing  her 
mother,  who  floated  helplessly  on  the  surface,  upheld  by 
her  skirts,  like  a  gigantic  and  variegated  water-lily.  Dick 
followed  with  a  single  gaiter.  In  another  minute  they  were 
safe  on  the  opposite  bank. 

The  elder  lady  gave  way  to  tears ;  Maria  laughed  hyster- 
ically ;  Dick  mingled  a  bass  oath  with  the  now  audible 
surf ;  the  elder  gentleman,  whose  florid  face  the  salt  water 
had  bleached,  and  whose  dignity  seemed  to  have  been 
washed  away,  accounted  for  both  by  saying  he  thought  it 
was  a  quicksand. 

"  It  might  have  been,"  said  a  quiet  voice  behind  them  ; 
"  you  should  have  followed  the  sand-dunes  half  a  mile 
farther  to  the  estuary." 

They  turned  instantly  at  the  voice.  It  was  that  of  The 
Man  on  the  Beach.  They  all  rose  to  their  feet  and  uttered 
together,  save  one,  the1  single  exclamation,  "  James  !  " 
The  elder  gentleman  said,  "  Mr.  North,"  and,  with  a  slight 
resumption  of  his  former  dignity,  buttoned  his  coat  over 
his  damp  shirt-front. 

There  was  a  silence,  in  which  the  Man  on  the  Beach 
looked  gravely  down  upon  them.  If  they  had  intended  to 
impress  him  by  any  suggestion  of  a  gay,  brilliant,  and  sen- 
suous world  beyond  in  their  own  persons,  they  had  failed, 
and  they  knew  it.  Keenly  alive  as  they  had  always  been 
to  external  -prepossession,  they  felt  that  they  looked  forlorn 
and  ludicrous,  and  that  the  situation  lay  in  his  hands.  The 
elderly  lady  again  burst  into  tears  of  genuine  distress, 
Maria  colored  over  her  cheek-bones,  and  Dick  stared  at  the 
ground  in  sullen  disquiet. 

"  You  had  better  get  up,"  said  The  Man  on  the  Beach, 
niter  a  moment's  thought,  "  and  come  up  to  the  cabin.  I 


THE    MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  307 

cannot  offer   you  a  change  of  garments,   but  you  can  dry 
them  by  the  fire." 

They  all  rose  together,  and  again  said  in  chorus,  "  James  !  " 
but  this  time  with  an  evident  effort  to  recall  some  speech  or 
action  previously  resolved  upon  and  committed  to  memory. 
The  elder  lady  got  so  far  as  to  clasp  her  hands,  and  add; 
"  You  have  not  forgotten  us,  James,  0  James ! "  the 
younger  gentleman  to  attempt  a  brusque  "  Why,  Jim,  old 
boy,"  that  ended  in  querulous  incoherence ;  the  young 
lady  to  cast  a  half-searching,  half-coquettish  look  at  him ; 
and  the  old  gentleman  to  begin,  "  Our  desire,  Mr.  North  " 

—  but  the  effort  was  futile.     Mr.   James  North,  standing 
before  them  with  folded  arms,  looked  from  the  one  to  the 
other. 

"  I  have  not  thought  much  of  you  for  a  twelvemonth," 
he  said  quietly,  "  but  I  have  not  forgotten  you.  Come !  " 

He  led  the  way  a  few  steps  in  advance,  they  following 
silently:  In  this  brief  interview  they  felt  he  had  resumed 
the  old  dominance  and  independence  against  which  they 
had  rebelled ;  more  than  that,  in  this  half-failure  of  their 
first  concerted  action  they  had  changed  their  querulous 
bickerings  to  a  sullen  distrust  of  each  other,  and  walked 
moodily  apart  as  they  followed  James  North  into  his  house. 
A  fire  blazed  brightly  on  the  hearth  ;  a  few  extra  seats  were 
quickly  extemporized  from  boxes  and  chests,  and  the  elder 
lady,  with  the  skirt  of  her  dress  folded  over  her  knees,  — 
looking  not  unlike  an  exceedingly  overdressed  jointed  doll, 

—  dried  her  flounces  and  her  tears  together.      Miss  Maria 
took  in  the  scant  appointments  of  the  house  in  one  single 
glance,  and  then  fixed  her  eyes  upon  James  North,  who, 
the  least  concerned  of  the  party,  stood  before  them,  grave 
and  patiently  expectant. 

"  Well,"  began  the  elder  lady  in  a  high  key,  "  after  all 
this  worry  and  trouble  you  have  given  us,  James,  have  n't 
you  anything  to  say  ?  Do  you  know  —  have  you  the  least 


308  THE    MAN   ON   THE   BKACH 

idea  what  you  are  doing  ?  what  egregious  folly  you  are  com- 
mitting ?  what  everybody  is  saying  ?  Eh  ?  Heavens  and 
earth  !  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  You  are  my  father's  brother's  widow,  Aunt  Mary,"  re- 
turned James  quietly.  "  If  I  am  committing  any  folly  it 
only  concerns  myself  ;  if  I  cared  for  what  people  said  I 
should  not  be  hero ;  if  I  loved  society  enough  to  appreciate 
its  good  report  I  should  stay  with  it." 

"  But  they  say  you  have  run  away  from  society  to  pine 
alone  for  a  worthless  creature  —  a  woman  who  has  used  you, 
as  she  has  used  and  thrown  away  others  —  a  "  — 

"  A  woman,"  chimed  in  Dick,  who  had  thrown  himself 
on  James's  bed  while  his  patent  leathers  were  drying,  —  "  a 
woman  that  all  the  fellers  know  never  intended  " — Here, 
however,  he  met  James  North's  eye,  and,  muttering  some- 
thing about  "  whole  thing  being  too  idiotic  to  talk  about," 
relapsed  into  silence. 

"  You  know,"  continued  Mrs.  North,  "  that  while  we  and 
all  our  set  shut  our  eyes  to  your  very  obvious  relations  with 
that  woman,  and  while  I  myself  often  spoke  of  it  to  others 
as  a  simple  flirtation,  and  averted  a  scandal  for  your  sake, 
and  when  the  climax  was  reached,  and  she  herself  gave  you 
an  opportunity  to  sever  your  relations,  and  nobody  need 
have  been  wiser  —  and  she  'd  have  had  all  the  blame  —  and 
it 's  only  what  she  's  accustomed  to  —  you  —  you  !  you, 
James  North  !  —  you  must  nonsensically  go,  and,  by  this 
extravagant  piece  of  idiocy  and  sentimental  tomfoolery,  let 
everybody  see  how  serious  the  whole  affair  was,  and  how 
deep  it  hurt  you  !  and  here  in  this  awful  place  —  alone  — 
where  you  're  half  drowned  to  get  to  it,  and  are  willing  to 
be  wholly  drowned  to  get  away  !  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me.' 
!  won't  hear  it  —  it 's  just  too  idiotic  for  anything  !  " 

The  subject  of  this  outburst  neither  spoke  nor  moved  a 
single  muscle. 

"  Your  aunt,  Mr.  North,  speaks  excitedly,"  said  the  elder 


THE    MAN    ON    THE    BEAOH  309 

gentleman  ;  "  yet  I  think  she  does  not  overestimate  the 
unfortunate  position  in  which  your  odd  fancy  places  you. 
I  know  nothing  of  the  reasons  that  have  impelled  you  to 
this  step ;  I  only  know  that  the  popular  opinion  is  that  the 
cause  is  utterly  inadequate.  You  are  still  young,  with  a 
future  hefore  you.  I  need  not  say  how  your  present  con- 
duct may  imperil  that.  If  you  expected  to  achieve  any 
good  —  even  to  your  own  satisfaction  —  by  this  conduct  " — 

"  Yes  —  if  there  was  anything  to  be  gained  by  it !  " 
broke  in  Mrs.  North. 

"  If  you  ever  thought  she  'd  come  back  !  —  but  that  kind 
of  woman  don't.  They  must  have  change.  Why  " —  be- 
gan Dick  suddenly,  and  as  suddenly  lying  down  again. 

"  Is  this  all  you  have  come  to  say  ?  "  asked  James  North, 
after  a  moment's  patient  silence,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"  All !  "  screamed  Mrs,  North  ;   "  is  it  not  enough  ?  " 

"  Not  to  change  my  mind  nor  my  residence  at  present," 
replied  North  coolly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  continue  this  folly  all  your  life  ?  " 

"  And  have  a  coroner's  inquest,  and  advertisements  and 
all  the  facts  in  the  papers  ?  " 

"  And  have  her  read  the  melancholy  details,  and  know 
that  you  were  faithful  and  she  was  not  ?  " 

This  last  shot  was  from  the  gentle  Maria,  who  bit  her 
lips  as  it  glanced  from  the  immovable  man. 

"  I  believe  there  is  nothing  more  to  say,"  continued 
North  quietly.  "  I  am  willing  to  believe  your  intentions 
are  as  worthy  as  your  zeal.  .  Let  us  say  no  more,"  he  added 
with  grave  weariness  ;  "  the  tide  is  rising,  and  your  coach- 
man is  signaling  you  from  the  bank." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  unshaken  positiveness  of  the 
man,  which  Avas  all  the  more  noticeable  from  its  gentle  but 
utter  indifference  to  the  wishes  of  the  party.  He  turned 
his  back  upon  them  as  they  gathered  hurriedly  around  the 


310  THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH 

elder  gentleman,  while  the  words,  "  He  cannot  be  in  hit 
right  mind,"  "  It 's  your  duty  to  do  it,"  "  It  '&  sheer  insan 
ity,"  "  Look  at  his  eye !  "  all  fell  unconsciously  upon  his 
ear. 

"  One  word  more,  Mr.  North,"  said  the  elder  gentleman 
a  little  portentously,  to  conceal  an  evident  embarrassment. 
"  It  may  be  that  your  conduct  might  suggest  to  minds  more 
practical  than  your  own  the  existence  of  some  aberration  of 
the  intellect  —  some  temporary  mania  —  that  might  force 
your  best  friends  into  a  quasi-legal  attitude  of  "  — 

"  Declaring  me  insane,"  interrupted  James  North,  with 
the  slight  impatience  of  a  man  more  anxious  to  end  a  pro- 
lix interview  than  to  combat  an  argument.  "  I  think  dif- 
ferently. As  my  aunt's  lawyer,  you  know  that  within  the 
last  year  I  have  deeded  most  of  my  property  to  her  and  her 
family.  I  cannot  believe  that  so  shrewd  an  adviser  as  Mr. 
Edmund  Carter  would  ever  permit  proceedings  that  would 
invalidate  that  conveyance." 

Maria  burst  into  a  laugh  of  such  wicked  gratification  that 
James  North,  for  the  first  time,  raised  his  eyes  with  some- 
thing of  interest  to  her  face.  She  colored  under  them, 
but  returned  his  glance  with  another  like  a  bayonet  flash. 
The  party  slowly  moved  toward  the  door,  James  North 
following. 

"  Then  this  is  your  final  answer  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  North, 
stopping  imperiously  on  the  threshold. 

"  1  beg  your  pardon  ?  "  queried  North,  half  abstractedly. 

"  Your  final  answer  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly." 

Mrs.  North  flounced  away  a  dozen  rods  in  rage.  This 
was  unfortunate  for  North.  It  gave  them  the  final  attack 
in  detail.  Dick  began :  "  Come  along !  You  know  you 
can  advertise  for  her  with  a  personal  down  there,  and  the 
old  woman  would  n't  object  as  long  as  you  were  careful  and 
put  in  an  appearance  now  and  then !  " 


THE    MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  31J 

As  Dick  limped  away,  Mr.  Carter  thought,  in  confidence, 
that  the  whole  matter  —  even  to  suit  Mr.  North's  sensitive 
nature  —  might  be  settled  there.  "  She  evidently  expects 
you  to  return.  My  opinion  is  that  she  never  left  San 
Francisco.  You  can't  tell  anything  about  these  women." 

With  this  last  sentence  on  his  indifferent  ear,  James 
North  seemed  to  be  left  free.  Maria  had  rejoined  her 
mother  ;  but  as  they  crossed  the  ford,  and  an  intervening 
sand-hill  hid  the  others  from  sight,  that  piquant  young  lady 
suddenly  appeared  on  the  hill  and  stood  before  him. 

"  And  you  're  not  coming  back  ?  "  she  said  directly. 

"  No." 

"  Never  ?  " 

"I  cannot  say." 

"  Tell  me  !  what  is  there  about  some  women  to  makt> 
men  love  them  so  ?  "  • 

"  Love,"  replied  North  quietly. 

"  No,  it  cannot  be  —  it  is  not  that  !  " 

North  looked  over  the  hill  and  round  the  hill,  and  looked 
bored. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  going  now.  But  one  moment,  Jim  !  I  did  n't 
want  to  come.  They  dragged  me  here.  Good-by."  She 
raised  a  burning  face  and  eyes  to  his.  He  leaned  forward 
and  imprinted  the  perfunctory,  cousinly  kiss  of  the  period 
upon  her  cheek. 

"  Not  that  way,"  she  said  angrily,  clutching  his  wrists 
with  her  long,  thin  fingers  ;  "  you  sha'n't  kiss  me  in  that 
way,  James  North." 

With  the  faintest,  ghost-like  passing  of  a  twinkle  in  the 
corners  of  his  sad  eyes,  he  touched  his  lips  to  hers.  With 
the  contact,  she  caught  him  round  the  neck,  pressed  her 
burning  lips  and  face  to  his  forehead,  his  cheeks,  the  very 
curves  of  his  chin  and  throat,  and  —  with  a  laugh  was 
gone. 


312  THE    MAN    ON   THE    BEACH 


CHAPTER  II 

Had  the  kinsfolk  of  James  North  any  hope  that  their 
visit  might  revive  some  lingering  desire  he  still  combated 
to  enter  once  more  the  world  they  represented,  that  hope 
would  have  soon  died.  Whatever  effect  this  episode  had 
upon  the  solitary  —  and  he  had  become  so  self-indulgent  of 
his  sorrow,  and  so  careless  of  all  that  came  between  him 
and  it,  as  to  meet  opposition  with  profound  indifference  — 
the  only  appreciable  result  was  a  greater  attraction  for  the 
solitude  that  protected  him,  and  he  grew  even  to  love  the 
bleak  shore  and  barren  sands  that  had  proved  so  inhospit- 
able to  others.  There  was  a  new  meaning  to  the  roar  of 
the  surges,  an  honest,  loyal  sturdiness  in  the  unchanging 
persistency  of  the  uncouth  and  blustering  trade-winds,  and 
a  rmite  fidelity  in  the  shining  sands,  treacherous  to  all  but 
him.  With  such  bandogs  to  lie  in  wait  for  trespassers, 
should  he  not  be  grateful  ? 

If  no  bitterness  was  awakened  by  the  repeated  avowal  of 
the  unfaithfulness  of  the  woman  he  loved,  it  was  because  he 
had  always  made  the  observation  and  experience  of  others 
give  way  to  the  dominance  oi  his  own  insight.  No  array  of 
contradictory  facts  ever  shook  his  belief  or  unbelief  ;  like 
all  egotists,  he  accepted  them  as  truths  controlled  by  a  larger 
truth  of  which  he  alone  was  cognizant.  His  simplicity, 
which  was  but  another  form  of  his  egotism,  was  so  complete 
as  to  baffle  ordinary  malicious  cunning,  and  so  he  was 
spared  the  experience  and  knowledge  that  come  to  a  lower 
nature,  and  help  to  debase  it. 

Exercise  and  the  stimulus  of  the  few  wants  that  sent  him 
hunting  or  fishing  kept  up  his  physical  health.  Never  a 
lover  of  rude  freedom  or  outdoor  life,  his  sedentary  predi- 
lections and  nice  tastes  kept  him  from  lapsing  into  barbarian 
;  never  a  sportsman,  he  followed  the  chase  with  no 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  313 

feverish  exultation.  Even  dumb  creatures  found  out  his 
secret,  and  at  times,  stalking  moodily  over  the  upland,  the 
brown  deer  and  elk  would  cross  his  path  without  fear  or 
molestation,  or,  idly  lounging  in  his  canoe  within  fche  river- 
bar,  flocks  of  wild  fowl  would  settle  within  stroke  of  his 
listless  oar.  And  so  the  second  winter  of  his  hermitage 
drew  near  its  close,  and  with  it  came  a  storm  that  passed 
into  local  history,  and  is  still  remembered.  It  uprooted 
giant  trees  along  the  river,  and  with  them  the  tiny  rootlets 
of  the  life  he  was  idly  fostering. 

The  morning  had  been  fitfully  turbulent,  the  wind  veer- 
ing several  points  south  and  west,  with  suspicious  lulls, 
unlike  the  steady  onset  of  the  regular  southwest  trades. 
High  overhead  the  long  manes  of  racing  cirro  -  stratus 
streamed  with  flying  gulls  and  hurrying  water-fowl ;  plover 
piped  incessantly,  and  a  flock  of  timorous  sandpipers  sought 
the  low  ridge  of  his  cabin,  while  a  wrecking  crew  of  curlew 
hastily  manned  the  uprooted  tree  that  tossed  wearily  beyond 
the  bar.  By  noon  the  flying  clouds  huddled  together  in 
masses,  and  then  were  suddenly  exploded  in  one  vast  opaque 
sheet  over  the  heavens.  The  sea  became  gray,  and  sud- 
denly wrinkled  and  old.  There  was  a  dumb,  half-articulate 
cry  in  the  air  —  rather  a  confusion  of  many  sounds,  as  of 
the  booming  of  distant  guns,  the  clangor  of  a  bell,  the 
trampling  of  many  waves,  the  creaking  of  timbers  and 
soughing  of  leaves,  that  sank  and  fell  ere  you  could  yet 
distinguish  them.  And  then  it  came  on  to  blow.  For  two 
hours  it  blew  strongly.  At  the  time  the  sun  should  have 
set,  the  wind  had  increased  ;  in  fifteen  minutes  darkness 
shut  down  —  even  the  white  sands  lost  their  outlines,  and . 
sea  and  shore  and  sky  lay  in  the  grip  of  a  relentless  and  ag- 
gressive power. 

Within  his  cabin,  by  the  leaping  light  of  his  gusty  fire, 
North  sat  alone.  His  first  curiosity  passed,  the  turmoil 
without  no  longer  carried  his  thought  beyond  its  one  con- 


314  THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH 

verging  centre.  She  had  come  to  him  on  the  wings  of  the 
storm,  even  as  she  had  heen  borne  to  him  on  the  summer 
fog-cloud.  Now  and  then  the  wind  shook  the  cabin,  but 
he  heeded  it  not.  He  had  no  fears  for  its  safety ;  it  pre- 
sented its  low  gable  to  the  full  fury  of  the  wind  that  year 
by  year  had  piled,  and  was  even  now  piling,  protecting 
buttresses  of  sand  against  it.  With  each  succeeding  gust  it 
seemed  to  nestle  more  closely  to  its  foundations  in  the 
whirl  of  flying  sand  that  rattled  against  its  roof  and  win- 
dows. It  was  nearly  midnight  when  a  sudden  thought 
brought  him  to  his  feet.  What  if  she  were  exposed  to  the 
fury  of  such  a  night  as  this  ?  What  could  he  do  to  help 
her  ?  Perhaps  even  now,  as  he  sat  there  idle,  she  —  Hark ! 
was  not  that  a  gun  —  No  ?  Yes,  surely  ! 

He  hurriedly  unbolted  the  door,  but  the  strength  of  the 
wind  and  the  impact  of  drifted  sand  resisted  his  efforts. 
With  a  new  and  feverish  strength  possessing  him  he  forced 
it  open  wide  enough  to  permit  his  egress,  when  the  wind 
caught  him  as  a  feather,  rolled  him  over  and  over,  and  then, 
grappling  him  again,  held  him  down  hard  and  fast  against 
the  drift.  Unharmed,  but  unable  to  move,  he  lay  there, 
hearing  the  multitudinous  roar  of  the  storm,  but  unable  to 
distinguish  one  familiar  sound  in  the  savage  medley.  At 
last  he  managed  to  crawl  flat  on  his  face  to  the  cabin,  and, 
refastening  the  door,  threw  himself  upon  his  bed. 

He  was  awakened  from  a  fitful  dream  of  his  cousin 
Maria.  She  with  a  supernatural  strength  seemed  to  be 
holding  the  door  rtgHinwt  some  unseen,  unknown  power  that 
moaned  and  strove  without,  and  threw  itself  in  despairing 
•  force  against  the  cabin,  lie  coul.l  sec  the  lithe  undulations 
of  her  form  as  she  alternately  yielded  to  its  power,  and 
again  drew  the  door  against  it,  coiling  herself  around  the 
log-hewn  doorpost  with  a  hideous,  snake-like  suggestion. 
And  then  a  struggle  and  a  heavy  blow,  which  shook  the 
very  foundations  of  the  structure,  awoke  him.  He  leaped 


THE   MAN  ON  THE   BEACH  315 

to  his  feet,  and  into  an  inch  of  water !  By  the  nickering 
firelight  he  could  see  it  oozing  and  dripping  from  the 
crevices  of  the  logs  and  broadening  into  a  pool  hy  the 
chimney.  A  scrap  of  paper  torn  from  an  envelope  was 
floating  idly  on  its  current.  Was  it  the  overflow  of  the 
hacked-up  waters  of  the  river  ?  He  was  not  left  long  in 
doubt.  Another  blow  upon  the  gable  of  the  house,  and  a 
torrent  of  spray  leaped  down'  the  chimney,  scattered  the 
embers  far  and  wide,  and  left  him  in  utter  darkness.  Some 
of  the  spray  clung  to  his  lips  ;  it  was  salt.  The  great 
ocean  had  beaten  down  the  river-bar  and  was  upon  him  ! 

Was  there  aught  to  fly  to  ?  No !  The  cabin  stood 
upon  the  highest  point  of  the  sand-spit,  and  the  low  swale 
on  one  side  crossed  by  his  late  visitors  was  a  seething  mass 
of  breakers,  while  the  estuary  behind  him  was  now  the 
ocean  itself.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait. 

The  very  helplessness  of  his  situation  was,  to  a  man  of 
his  peculiar  temperament,  an  element  of  patient  strength. 
The  instinct  of  self-preservation  was  still  strong  in  him,  but 
he  had  no  fear  of  death,  nor,  indeed,  any  presentiment  of  it ; 
yet  if  it  came,  it  was  an,  easy  solution  of  the  problem  that 
had  been  troubling  him,  and  it  wiped  off  the  slate !  He 
thought  of  the  sarcastic  prediction  of  his  cousin,  and  death 
in  the  form  that  threatened  him  was  the  obliteration  of  his 
home  and  even  the  ground  upon  which  it  stood.  There 
would  be  nothing  to  record ;  no  stain  could  come  upon  the 
living.  The  instinct  that  kept  him  true  to  her  would  tell 
her  .how  he  died  ;  if  it  did  not,  it  was  equally  well.  And 
with  this  simple  fatalism,  his  only  belief,  this  strange  man 
groped  his  way  to  his  bed,  lay  down,  and  in  a  few  moments 
was  asleep.  The  storm  still  roared  without.  Once  again 
the  surges  leaped  against  the  cabin,  but  it  was  evident  that 
the  wind  was  abating  with  the  tide. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  high  noon,  and  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly.  For  some  time  he  lay  in  a  delicious  languor, 


816  THE   MAN    ON    THE   BEACH 

doubting  if  he  was  alive  or  dead,  but  feeling  through  every 
nerve  and  fibre  an  exquisite  sense  of  peace  —  a  rest  he  had 
not  known  since  his  boyhood  —  a  relief  he  scarcely  knew 
from  what.  He  felt  that  he  was  smiling,  and  yet  his  pillow 
was  wet  with  the  tears  that  glittered  still  on  his  lashes.  The 
sand  blocking  up  his  doorway,  he  leaped  lightly  from  his 
window.  A  few  clouds  were  still  sailing  slowly  in  the 
heavens,  the  trailing  plumes  of  a  great  benediction  that 
lay  oil  sea  and  shore.  He  scarcely  recognized  the  familiar 
landscape ;  a  new  bar  had  been  formed  in  the  river,  and  a 
narrow  causeway  of  sand  that  crossed  the  lagoon  and  marshes 
to  the  river-bank  and  the  upland  trail  seemed  to  bring  him 
nearer  to  humanity  again.  He  was  conscious  of  a  fresh, 
childlike  delight  in  all  this,  and  when,  a  moment  later,  he 
saw  the  old  uprooted  tree,  now  apparently  forever  moored 
and  imbedded  in  the  sand  beside  his  cabin,  he  ran  to  it 
with  a  sense  of  joy. 

•  Its  trailing  roots  were  festooned  with  clinging  seaweed 
and  the  long,  snaky,  undulating  stems  of  the  sea-turnip ; 
and  fixed  between  two  crossing  roots  was  a  bamboo  orange 
crate,  almost  intact.  As  he  walked  toward  it  he  heard  a 
strange  cry,  unlike  anything  the  barren  sands  had  borne 
before.  Thinking  it  might  be  some  strange  sea-bird  caught 
in  the  meshes  of  the  seaweed,  he  ran  to  the  crate  and  looked 
within.  It  was  half  filled  with  sea-moss  and  feathery  algae. 
The  cry  was  repeated.  He  brushed  aside  the  weeds  with 
his  hands.  It  was  not  a  wounded  sea-bird,  but  a  living 
human  child ! 

As  he  lifted  it  from  its  damp  enwrappings  he  saw  that  it 
was  an  infant  eight  or  nine  months  old.  How  and  when  it 
had  been  brought  there,  or  what  force  had  guided  that  elfish 
cradle  to  his  very  door,  he  could  not  determine  ;  but  it 
must  have  been  left  early,  for  it  was  quite  warm,  and  its 
clothing  almost  dried  by  the  blazing  morning  sun.  Tc 
wrap  his  coat  about  it,  to  run  to  his  cabin  with  it,  to  start 


THE   MAN   ON    THE   BEACH  317 

out  again  with  the  appalling  conviction  that  nothing  could 
he  done  for  it  there*  occupied  some  moments.  His  nearest 
neighbor  was  Trinidad  Joe,  a  "  logger,"  three  miles  up  the 
river.  He  remembered  to  have  heard  vaguely  that  he  was 
a  man  of  family.  To  half  strangle  the  child  with  a  few 
drops  from  his  whiskey  flask,  to  extricate  his  canoe  from  the 
marsh,  and  strike  out  into  the  river  with  his  waif,  was  at 
least  to  do  something.  In  half  an  hour  he  had  reached  the 
straggling  cabin  and  sheds  of  Trinidad  Joe,  and  from  the  few 
scanty  flowers  that  mingled  with  the  brushwood  fence,  and 
a  surplus  of  linen  fluttering  on  the  line,  he  knew  that  his  sur- 
mise as  to  Trinidad  Joe's  domestic  establishment  was  correct. 

The  door  at  which  he  knocked  opened  upon  a  neat, 
plainly  furnished  room,  and  the  figure  of  a  buxom  woman 
of  twenty-five.  With  an  awkwardness  new  to  him,  North 
stammered  out  the  circumstances  of  his  finding  the  infant, 
and  the  object  of  his  visit.  Before  he  had  finished,  the 
woman  by  some  feminine  trick  had  taken  the  child  from 
his  hands  ere  he  knew  it ;  and  when  he  paused,  out  of 
breath,  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  North  tried  to  laugh, 
too,  but  failed. 

When  the  woman  had  wiped  the  tears  from  a  pair  of 
very  frank  blue  eyes,  and  hidden  two  rows  of  very  strong 
white  teeth  again,  she  said  :  — 

"  Look  yar  !  You  're  that  looney  sort  o'  chap  that  lives 
alone  over  on  the  spit  yonder,  ain't  ye  ?  " 

North  hastened  to  admit  all  that  the  statement  might 
imply. 

"  And  so  ye  've  had  a  baby  left  ye  to  keep  you  company  ? 
Lordy  !  "  Here  she  looked  as  if  dangerously  near  a  relapse, 
and  then  added,  as  if  in  explanation  of  her  conduct,  — 

"  When  I  saw  ye  paddlin'  down  here  —  you  thet  ez  shy 
as  elk  in  summer  —  I  sez,  '  He  's  sick.'  But  a  baby  —  0 
Lordy  !  " 

For  a  moment  North  almost  hated  her.     A  woman  who, 


318  THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH 

in  this  pathetic,  perhaps  almost  tragic,  picture  saw  only  a 
ludicrous  image,  and  that  image  himself,  was  of  another 
race  than  he  had  ever  mingled  with.  Profoundly  indifferent 
as  he  had  always  been  to  the  criticism  of  his  equals  in 
station,  the  mischievous  laughter  of  this  illiterate  woman 
jarred  upon  him  worse  than  his  cousin's  sarcasm.  It  was 
with  a  little  dignity  that  he  pointed  out  the  fact  that  at 
present  the  child  needed  nourishment.  "  It 's  very  young/' 
he  added.  "  I  'm  afraid  it  wants  its  natural  nourishment." 

"  Whar  is  it  to  get  it  ?  "   asked  the  woman. 

James  North  hesitated,  and  looked  around.  There 
should  be  a  baby  somewhere  !  there  must  be  a  baby  some- 
where !  "  I  thought  that  you,1'  he  stammered,  conscious  of 
an  awkward  coloring  — r  "  I  —  that  is  —  I  "  —  He  stopped 
short,  for  she  was  already  cramming  her  apron  into  her 
mouth,  too  late,  however,  to  stop  the  laugh  that  overflowed 
it.  When  she  found  her  breath  again,  she  said,  — 

"Look  yar  !  I  don't  wonder  they  said  you  was  looney  ! 
I  'm  Trinidad  Joe's  onmarried  darter,  and  the  only  woman 
in  this  house.  Any  fool  could  have  told  you  that.  Now, 
ef  you  can  rig  us  up  a  baby  out  o'  them  facts,  I  'd  like  to 
see  it  done." 

Inwardly  furious  but  outwardly  polite,  James  North 
begged  her  pardon,  deplored  his  ignorance,  and,  with  a 
courtly  bow,  made  a  movement  to  take  the  child.  But  the 
woman  as  quickly  drew  it  away. 

"Not  much,"  she  said  hastily.  "What!  trust  that  poor 
critter  to  you  ?  No,  sir !  Thar  's  more  ways  of  feeding  a 
baby,  young  man,  than  you  knows  on,  with  all  your  '  nat'ral 
nourishment.'  But  it  looks  kinder  logy  and  stupid." 

North  freezingly  admitted  that  he  had  given  the  infant 
whiskey  as  a  stimulant. 

"  You  did  ?  Come,  now,  that  ain't  so  looney  after  all. 
Well,  I  '11  take  the  baby,  and  when  dad  comes  home  we  '\J 
Bee  what  can  be  done." 


THE   MAN  ON   THE   BEACH  319 

North  hesitated.  His  dislike  of  the  woman  was  intense, 
and  yet  he  knew  no  one  else,  and  the  baby  needed  instant 
care.  Besides,  he  began  to  see  the  ludicrousness  of  his 
making  a  first  call  on  his  neighbors  with  a  foundling  to 
dispose  of.  She  saw  his  hesitation,  and  said,  — 

"  Ye  don't  know  me,  in  course.  Well,  I  'm  Bessy  Rob- 
inson,  Trinidad  Joe  Robinson's  daughter.  I  reckon  dad 
will  give  me  a  character  if  you  want  references,  or  any  of 
the  boys  on  the  river." 

"  I  'm  only  thinking  of  the  trouble  I  'm  giving  you,  Miss 
Eobinson,  I  assure  you.  Any  expense  you  may  incur  "  — 

"  Young  man,"  said  Bessy  Robinson,  turning  sharply  on 
her  heel,  and  facing  him  with  her  black  brows  a  little  con- 
tracted, "  if  it  comes  to  expenses,  I  reckon  I  '11  pay  you  for 
that  baby,  or  not  take  it  at  all.  But  I  don't  know  you 
well  enough  to  quarrel  with  you  on  sight.  So  leave  the 
child  to  me,  and  if  you  choose,  paddle  down  here  to-morrow, 
after  sun-up,  —  the  ride  will  do  you  good,  —  and  see  it,  and 
dad  thrown  in.  Good-by  !  "  and  with  one  powerful  but 
well-shaped  arm  thrown  around  the  child,  and  the  other 
crooked  at  the  dimpled  elbow  a  little  aggressively,  she 
swept  by  James  North  and  entered  a  bedroom,  closing  the 
door  behind  her. 

When  Mr.  James  North  reached  his  cabin  it  was  dark. 
As  he  rebuilt  his  fire,  and  tried  to  rearrange  the  scattered 
and  disordered  furniture,  and  remove  the  debris  of  last 
night's  storm,  he  was  conscious  for  the  first  time  of  feeling 
lonely.  He  did  not  miss  the  child.  Beyond  the  instincts 
of  humanity  and  duty  he  had  really  no  interest  in  its  wel- 
fare or  future.  He  was  rather  glad  to  get  rid  of  it  —  he 
would  have  preferred  to  some  one  else ;  and  yet  she  looked 
as  if  she  were  competent.  And  then  came  the  reflection 
that  since  the  morning  he  had  not  once  thought  of  the 
woman  he  loved.  The  like  had  never  occurred  in  his 
twelvemonth's  solitude.  So  he  set  to  work,  thinking  of 


320  THE   MAN   ON   THE    BEACH 

her  and  of  his  sorrows,  until  the  word  "  looney,"  in  con- 
nection with  his  suffeiing,  flashed  across  his  memory 
"  Looney  "  !  It  was  not  a  nice  word.  It  suggested  some 
thing  less  than  insanity ;  something  that  might  happen  to 
a  common,  unintellectual  sort  of  person.  He  remembered 
the  loon,  an  ungainly  feathered  neighbor,  that  was  popu- 
larly supposed  to  have  lent  its  name  to  the  adjective. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  people  looked  upon  him  as  one 
too  hopelessly  and  uninterestingly  afflicted  for  sympathy  or 
companionship,  too  unimportant  and  common  for  even 
ridicule ;  or  was  this  but  the  coarse  interpretation  of  that 
vulgar  girl  ? 

Nevertheless,  the  next  morning  "  after  sun-up  "  James 
North  was  at  Trinidad  Joe's  cabin.  That  worthy  proprie- 
tor himself  —  a  long,  lank  man,  with  even  more  than  the 
ordinary  rural  Western  characteristics  of  ill  health,  ill  feed- 
ing, and  melancholy  —  met  him  on  the  bank,  clothed  in  a 
manner  and  costume  that  was  a  singular  combination  of  the 
frontiersman  and  the  sailor.  When  North  had  again  related 
the  story  of  his  finding  the  child,  Trinidad  Joe  pondered. 

"  It  mout  hev  been  stowed  away  in  one  of  them  crates 
for  safe-keeping,"  he  said  musingly,  "  and  washed  off  the 
deck  o'  one  o'  them  Tahiti  brigs  goin'  down  fer  oranges. 
Leastways,  it  never  got  thar  from  these  parts." 

"  But  it 's  a  miracle  its  life  was  saved  at  all.  It  must 
have  been  some  hours  in  the  water." 

"  Them  brigs  lays  their  course  well  inshore,  and  it  was 
just  mebbee  a  toss  up  if  the  vessel  clawed  off  the  reef  at 
all !  And  ez  to  the  child  keepin'  up,  why,  dog  my  skin  ! 
that's  just  the  contrariness  o'  things,"  continued  Joe,  in 
sententious  cynicism.  "  Ef  an  able  seaman  had  fallen 
from  the  yard-arm  that  night  he  'd  been  sunk  in  sight  o' 
the  ship ;  and  thet  baby  ez  can't  swim  a  stroke  sails  ashore 
sound  asleep,  with  the  waves  for  a  baby-jumper." 

North,  who  was  half  relieved,   yet  half  awkwardly   dis- 


THE    MAN   ON   THE    BEACH  321 

appointed  at  not  seeing  Bessy,  ventured  to  ask  how  the 
child  was  doing. 

"  She  '11  do  all  right  now,"  said  a  frank  voice  above, 
and,  looking  up,  North  discerned  the  round  arms,  blue  eyes, 
and  white  teeth  of  the  daughter  at  the  window.  "  She  's 
all  hunkey,  and  has  an  appetite — ef  she  hez  n't  got  her 
'nat'ral  nourishment.'  Come,  dad!  heave  ahead,  and  tell 
the  stranger  what  you  and  me  allow  we  '11  do,  and  don't 
stand  there  swappin'  lies  with  him." 

"  Weel,"  said  Trinidad  Joe  dejectedly,  "  Bess  allows  she 
can  rar  that  baby  and  do  justice  to  it.  And  I  don't  say  — 
though  I  'm  her  father  —  that  she  can't.  But  when  Bess 
wants  anything  she  wants  it  all,  clean  down ;  no  half  ways 
nor  leavin's  for  her." 

"  That's  me  !  go  on,  dad  —  you  're  chippin'  in  the  same 
notch  every  time,"  said  Miss  Robinson  with  cheerful  direct- 
ness. 

"  Well,  we  agree  to  put  the  job  up  this  way.  We  '11  take 
the  child  and  you  '11  give  us  a  paper  or  writin'  makin'  over 
all  your  right  and  title.  How  's  that  ?  " 

Without  knowing  exactly  why  he  did,  Mr.  North  objected 
decidedly. 

"  Do  you  think  we  won't  take  good  care  of  it  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Bessy  sharply. 

"  That  is  not  the  question,"  said  North  a  little  hotly. 
"  In  the  first  place,  the  child  is  not  mine  to  give.  It  has 
fallen  into  my  hands  as  a  trust  —  the  first  hands  that 
received  it  from  its  parents.  I  do  not  think  it  right  to 
allow  any  other  hands  to  come  between  theirs  and  mine." 

Miss  Bessy  left  the  window.  In  another  moment  she 
appeared  from  the  house,  and,  walking  directly  toward 
North,  held  out  a  somewhat  substantial  hand.  "  Good  !  " 
she  said,  as  she  gave  his  fingers  an  honest  squeeze.  "  You 
ain't  so  looney  after  all.  Dad,  he  's  right !  He  sha'n't  gin 
it  UD,  but  we  '11  go  halves  in  it,  he  and  me.  He  '11  be 


322  THE    MAN   ON    THE    BEACH 

father  and  I  '11  be  mother  till  death  do  as  part,  or  the 
reg'lar  family  turns  up.  Well  —  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

More  pleased  than  he  dared  confess  to  himself  with 
the  praise  of-  this  common  girl,  Mr.  James  North  assented. 
Then  would  he  see  the  baby  ?  He  would,  and  Trinidad 
Joe,  having  already  seen  the  baby,  and  talked  of  the  baby, 
and  felt  the  baby,  and  indeed  had  the  baby  offered  to  him 
in  every  way  during  the  past  night,  concluded  to  give  some 
of  his  valuable  time  to  logging,  and  left  them  together. 

Mr.  North  was  obliged  to  admit  that  the  baby  was  thriv- 
ing. He,  moreover,  listened  with  polite  interest  to  the 
statement  that  the  baby's  eyes  were  hazel,  like  his  own ; 
that  it  had  five  teeth ;  that  she  was,  for  a  girl  of  that 
probable  age,  a  robust  child ;  and  yet  Mr.  North  lingered  ? 
Finally,  with  his  hand  on  the  door-lock,  he  turned  to  Bess^ 
and  said,  — 

"  May  I  ask  you  an  odd  question,  Miss  Robinson  ?  " 

"Go  on." 

"  Why  did  you  think  I  was  —  <  looney  '  ?  " 

The  frank  Miss  Robinson  bent  her  head  over  the  baby, 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Yes,  why  ?  " 

"  Because  you  were  looney." 

"Oh!" 

"  But "  — 

«yes"_ 

"  You  '11  get  over  it." 

And  under  the  shallow  pretext  of  getting  the  baby's 
food,  she  retired  to  the  kitchen,  where  Mr.  North  had  the 
supreme  satisfaction  of  seeing  her,  as  he  passed  the  window, 
sitting  on  a  chair  with  her  apron  over  her  head,  shaking 
with  laughter. 

For  the  next  two  or  three  days  he  did  not  visit  tha 
Robinsons,  but  gave  himself  up  to  past  memories.  On 
the  third  day  he  had  —  it  must  be  confessed  not  without 


THE    MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  323 

some  effort  —  brought  himself  into  that  condition  of  patient 
sorrow  which  had  been  his  habit.  The  episode  of  the 
storm  and  the  finding  of  the  baby  began  to  fade,  as  had 
faded  the  visit  of  his  relatives.  It  had  been  a  dull  wet 
day,  and  he  was  sitting  by  his  fire,  when  there  came  a  tap 
at  his  door.  "  Flora,"  by  which  juvenescent  name  his 
aged  Indian  handmaid  was  known,  usually  announced  her 
presence  with  an  imitation  of  a  curlew's  cry  :  it  could  not 
be  she.  He  fancied  he  heard  the  trailing  of  a  woman's 
dress  against  the  boards,  and  started  to  his  feet,  deathly 
pale,  with  a  name  upon  his  lips.  But  the  door  was  impa- 
tiently thrown  open,  and  showed  Bessy  Robinson !  —  and 
the  baby  ! 

"With  a  feeling  of  relief  he  could  not  understand,  he 
offered  her  a  seat.  She  turned  .her  frank  eyes  on  him 
curiously. 

"  You  look  skeert !  " 

"  I  was  startled.     You  know  I  see  nobody  here !  " 

"  Thet's  so.     But  look  yar,  do  you  ever  use  a  doctor  ?  " 

Not  clearly  understanding  her,  he  in  turn  asked, 
"Why?" 

"  'Cause  you  must  rise  up  and  get  one  now  —  thet  's  why. 
This  yer  baby  of  ours  is  sick.  We  don't  use  a  doctor  at 
our  hotise.  —  we  don't  beleeve  in  'em,  hain't  no  call  for  'em, 
—  but  this  yer  baby's  parents  mebbee  did.  So  rise  up  out 
o'  that  cheer,  and  get  one." 

James  North  looked  at  Miss  Robinson  and  rose,  albeit  a 
little  in  doubt,  and  hesitating. 

Miss  Robinson  saw  it.  "I  shouldn't  hev  troubled  ye, 
nor  ridden  three  mile  to  do  it,  if  ther  bed  been  any  one 
else  to  send.  But  dad  's  over  at  Eureka,  buying  logs,  and 
I  'm  alone.  Hello  —  wher'  yer  goin'  ?  " 

North  had  seized  his  hat,  and  opened  the  door.  "For  a 
doctor,"  he  replied  amazedly. 

"  Did  ye  kalkilate  to  walk  six  miles  and  back  ?  " 


824  THE    MAN   ON    THE    BEACH 

"  Certainly  —  I  have  no  horse." 

"  But  /  have,  and  you  '11  find  her  tethered  outside.  She 
ain't  much  to  look  at,  but  when  you  strike  the  trail  she  '11 
go." 

"  But  you  —  how  will  you  return  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Robinson,  drawing  her  chair  to  the 
fire,  taking  off  her  hat  and  shawl,  and  warming  her  knees 
by  the  blaze  ;  "  I  did  n't  reckon  to  return.  You  '11  find 
me  here  when  you  come  back  with  the  doctor.  Go ! 
Skedaddle  quick." 

She  did  not  have  to  repeat  the  command.  In  another 
instant  James  North  was  in  Miss  Bessy's  seat,  — -  a  man's 
dragoon  saddle,  —  and  pounding  away  through  the  sand. 
Two  facts  were  in  his  mind  :  one  was  that  he,  the  "  looney," 
was  about  to  open  communication  with  the  wisdom  and 
contemporary  criticism  of  the  settlement,  by  going  for  a 
doctor  to  administer  to  a  sick  and  anonymous  infant  in  his 
possession  ;  the  other  was  that  his  solitary  house1  was  in 
the  hands  of  a  self-invited,  large-limbed,  illiterate,  but 
rather  comely  young  woman.  These  facts  he  could  not 
gallop  away  from,  but  to  his  credit  be  it  recorded  that  he 
fulfilled  his  mission  zealously,  if  not  coherently,  to  the 
doctor,  who  during  the  rapid  ride  gathered  the  idea  that 
North  had  rescued  a  young  married  woman  from  drowning, 
who  had  since  given  birth  to  a  child. 

The  few  words  that  set  the  doctor  right  when  he  arrived 
at  the  cabin  might  in  any  other  community  have  required 
further  explanation,  but  Dr.  Duchesne,  an  old  army  surgeon, 
was  prepared  for  everything  and  indifferent  to  all.  "  The 
infant,"  he  said,  "  was  threatened  with  inflammation  of 
the  lungs  ;  at  present  there  was  no  danger,  but  the  greatest 
care  and  caution  must  be  exercised.  Particularly  exposure 
should  be  avoided."  "That  settles  the  whole  matter 
then,"  said  Bessy  potentially.  Both  gentlemen  looked 
their  surprise.  "  It  means,"  she  condescended  to  further 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  325 

explain,  "  that  you  must  ride  that  filly  home,  wait  for  the 
old  man  to  come  to-morrow,  and  then  ride  hack  here  with 
some  of  my  duds,  for  thar  's  no  '  day-days  '  nor  picnicking 
for  that  baby  ontil  she's  better.  And  I  reckon  to  stay 
with  her  ontil  she  is." 

"  She  certainly  is  unable  to  bear  any  exposure  at  present," 
said  the  doctor,  with  an  amused  side  glance  at  North's  per- 
plexed face.  "Miss  Robinson  is  right.  I'll  ride  with 
you  over  the  sands  as  far  as  the  trail." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  North,  feeling  it  incumbent  upon  him 
to  say  something,  "  that  you  '11  hardly  find  it  as  comfortable 
here  as"  — 

"  I  reckon  not,"  she  said  simply,  "  but  I  did  n't  expect 
much." 

North  turned  a  little  wearily  away.  "  Good-night,"  she 
said  suddenly,  extending  her  hand,  with  a  gentler  smile  of 
lip  and  eye  than  he  had  ever  before  noticed,  "  good-night. 
Take  good  care  of  dad." 

The  doctor  and  North  rode  together  some  moments  in 
silence.  North  had  another  fact  presented  to  him,  that  is, 
that  he  was  going  a- visiting,  and  that  he  had  virtually  aban- 
doned his  former  life  ;  also  that  it  would  be  profanation  to 
think  of  his  sacred  woe  in  the  house  of  a  stranger. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  the  doctor  suddenly,  "  you  are  not 
familiar  with  the  type  of  woman  Miss  Bessy  presents  so 
perfectly.  Your  life  has  been  spent  among  the  conventional 


North  froze  instantly  at  what  seemed  to  be  a  probing  of 
his  secret.  Disregarding  the  last  suggestion,  he  made 
answer  simply  and  truthfully  that  he  had  never  met  any 
Western  girl  like  Bessy. 

"  That 's  your  bad  luck,"  said  the  doctor.  "  You  think 
her  coarse  and  illiterate  ?  " 

Mr.  North  had  been  so  much  struck  with  her  kindness 
that  really  he  had  not  thought  of  it. 


326  THE    MAN    ON    THE    BEACH 

"  That 's  not  so,"  said  the  doctor  curtly  ;  "  although  even 
if  you  told  her  so  she  would  not  think  any  the  less  of  you 
—  nor  of  herself.  If  she  spoke  rusti'c  Greek  instead  of  Lad 
English,  and  wore  a  cestus  in  place  of  an  ill-fitting  corset, 
you  'd  swear  she  was  a  goddess.  There 's  your  trail. 
Good-night." 

CHAPTER  III 

James  North  did  not  sleep  well  that  night.  He  had 
taken  Miss  Bessy's  bedroom,  at  her  suggestion,  there  being 
but  two,  and  "  dad  never  using  sheets  and  not  bein'  keerf  ul 
in  his  habits."  It  was  neat,  but  that  was  all.  The  scant 
ornamentation  was  atrocious  ;  two  or  three  highly-colored 
prints,  a  shell  work-box,  a  ghastly  winter  bouquet  of  skeleton 
leaves  and  mosses,  a  starfish,  and  two  china  vases  hideous 
enough  to  have  been  worshiped  as  Buddhist  idols,  exhibited 
the  gentle  recreation  of  the  fair  occupant,  and  the  possible 
future  education  of  the  child.  In  the  morning  he  was  met 
by  Joe,  who  received  the  message  of  his  daughter  with  his 
usual  dejection,  and  suggested  that  North  stay  with  him 
until  the  child  was  better.  That  event  was  still  remote  ; 
North  found,  on  his  return  to  his  cabin,  that  the  child  had 
been  worse;  but  he  did  not  know,  until  Miss  Bessy  dropped 
a  casual  remark,  that  she  had  not  closed  her  own  eyes  that 
night.  It  was  a  week  before  he  regained  his  own  quarters, 
but  an  active  week  —  indeed,  on  the  whole,  a  rather  pleasant 
week.  For  there  was  a  delicate  flattery  in  being  domi- 
neered by  a  wholesome  and  handsome  woman,  and  Mr. 
James  North  had  by  this  time  made  up  his  mind  that  she 
was  both.  Once  or  twice  he  found  himself  contemplating 
her  splendid  figure  with  a  recollection  of  the  doctor's  com- 
pliment, and  later,  emulating  her  own  frankness,  told  heT 
of  it. 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  327 

"Oh,  I  laughed,  and  said  —  nothing." 

And  so  did  she. 

A  month  after  this  interchange  of  frankness,  she  asked 
him  if  he  could  spend  the  next  evening  at  her  house. 
"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  there  's  to  be  a  dance  down  at  the 
hall  at  Eureka,  and  I  have  n't  kicked  a  fut  since  last  spring. 
Hank  Fisher  's  comin'  up  to  take  rne  over,  and  I  'ni  goin' 
to  let  the  shanty  slide  for  the  night." 

"  But  what 's  to  become  of  the  baby  ?  "  asked  North,  a 
little  testily. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Robinson,  facing  him  somewhat  ag- 
gressively, "  I  reckon  it  won't  hurt  ye  to  take  care  of  it  for 
a  night.  Dad  can't  —  and  if  he  could,  he  don't  know  how; 
Liked  to  have  pizened  me  after  mar  died.  No,  young  man, 
I  don't  propose  to  ask  Hank  Fisher  to  tote  thet  child  over 
to  Eureka  and  back,  and  spile  his  fun." 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  make  way  for  Mr.  Hank  — 
Hank  —  Fisher  ? "  said  North,  with  the  least  tinge  of 
sarcasm  in  his  speech. 

"  Of  course.      You  've  got  nothing  else  to  do,  you  know." 

North  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  pleaded  a  pre- 
vious engagement  on  business  of  importance,  but  he  knew 
that  Bessy  spoke  truly.  He  had  nothing  to  do.  "  And 
Fisher  has,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  course  —  to  look  after  me  !  " 

A  more  unpleasant  evening  James  North  had  not  spent 
since  the  first  day  of  his  solitude.  He  almost  began  to  hate 
the  unconscious  cause  of  his  absurd  position,  as  he  paced 
up  and  down  the  floor  \vith  it.  "  Was  there  ever  such 
egregious  folly  ?  "  he  began  ;  but  remembering  he  was  qu^t 
ing  Maria  North's  favorite  resume  of  his  own  conduct,  h»; 
stopped.  The  child  cried,  missing,  no  doubt,  the  full 
rounded  curves  and  plump  arm  of  its  nurse.  North  danced 
it  violently,  with  an  inward  accompaniment  that  was  not 
musical,  and  thought  of  the  other  dancers.  "  Doubtle&v,,' 


828  THE   MAN   ON    THE   BEACH 

he  mused,  "  she  has  told  this  beau  of  hers  that  she  has  left 
the  baby  with  the  '  looney '  Man  on  the  Beach.  Perhaps 
I  may  be  offered  a  permanent  engagement  as  a  harmless 
simpleton  accustomed  to  the  care  of  children.  Mothers 
may  cry  for  me.  The  doctor  is  at  Eureka.  Of  course,  he 
will  be  there  to  see  his  untranslated  goddess,  and  condole 
with  her  over  the  imbecility  of  The  Man  on  the  Beach." 
Once  he  carelessly  asked  Joe  who  the  company  were. 

"  Well,"  said  Joe  mournfully,  "  thar  's  Widder  Higsby 
and  darter ;  the  four  Stubbs  gals ;  in  course  Polly  Doble 
will  be  on  hand  with  that  feller  that 's  clerking  over  at  the 
Head  for  Jones,  and  Jones's  wife.  Then  thar 's  French 
Pete,  and  Whiskey  Ben,  and  that  chap  that  shot  Archer,  —  I 
disremember  his  name,  —  and  the  barber  —  what 's  that  little 
mulatto's  name  —  that  ar  Kanaka  ?  I  swow  !  "  continued 
Joe  drearily,  "  I  '11  be  forgettin'  my  own  next  —  and  "  — 

"That  will  do,"  interrupted  North,  only  half  concealing 
his  disgust  as  he  rose  and  carried  the  baby  to  the  other 
room,  beyond  the  reach  of  names  that  might  shock  its  lady- 
like ears.  The  next  morning  he  met  the  from-dance-return- 
ing  Bessie  abstractedly,  and  soon  took  his  leave,  full  of  a 
disloyal  plan,  conceived  in  the  sleeplessness  of  her  own 
bedchamber.  He  was  satisfied  that  he  owed  a  duty  to  its 
unknown  parents  to  remove  the  child  from  the  degrading 
influences  of  the  barber  Kanaka,  and  Hank  Fisher  especially, 
and  he  resolved  to  write  to  his  relatives,  stating  the  case, 
asking  a  home  for  the  waif  and  assistance  to  find  its  parents. 
He  addressed  this  letter  to  his  cousin  Maria,  partly  in  con- 
sideration of  the  dramatic  farewell  of  that  young  lady,  and 
its  possible  influence  in  turning  her  susceptible  heart  towards 
his  protegee.  He  then  quietly  settled  back  to  his  old  solitary 
habits,  and  for  a  week  left  the  Robinsons  unvisited.  The 
result  was  a  morning  call  by  Trinidad  Joe  on  the  hermit. 
"  It 's  a  whim  of  my  gal's,  Mr.  North,"  he  said  dejectedly  ; 
"  and  ez  1  told  you  before  and  warned  ye,  when  that  gal  hez 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  329 

an  idee,  fower  yoke  of  oxen  and  seving  men  can't  drag  it 
outer  her.  She  's  got  a  idee  o'  larnin',  —  never  hevin'  hed 
much  schooling  and  we  on'y  takin'  the  papers,  permiskiss- 
like,  —  and  she  says  you  can  teach  her  —  not  hevin'  anythin' 
else  to  do.  Do  you  folly  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  North,  "  certainly." 

"  Well,  she  allows  ez  mebbee  you  're  proud,  and  did  n't 
like  her  takin'  care  of  the  baby  for  nowt ;  and  she  reckons 
that  ef  you  '11  gin  her  some  book  larnin',  and  get  her  to  sling 
some  fancy  talk  in  fash'u'ble  style  —  why,  she'll  call  it 
squar." 

"  You  can  tell  her,"  said  North,  very  honestly,  "  that  I 
shall  be  only  too  glad  to  help  her  in  any  way,  without  ever 
hoping  to  cancel  my  debt  of  obligation  to  her." 

"  Then  it 's  a  go  ?  "  said  the  mystified  Joe,  with  a  desperate 
attempt  to  convey  the  foregoing  statement  to  his  own  in- 
tellect in  three  Saxon  words. 

"  It 's  a  go,"  replied  North  cheerfully. 

And  he  felt  relieved.  For  he  was  not  quite  satisfied  with 
his  own  want  of  frankness  to  her.  But  here  was  a  way  to 
pay  off  the  debt  he  owed  her,  and  yet  retain  his  own  dignity. 
And  now  he  could  tell  her  what  he  had  done,  and  he  trusted 
to  the  ambitious  instinct  that  prompted  her  to  seek  a  better 
education  to  explain  his  reasons  for  it. 

He  saw  her  that  evening  and  confessed  all  to  her  frankly. 
She  kept  her  head  averted,  but  when  she  turned  her  blue 
eyes  to  him  they  were  wet  with  honest  tears.  North  had  a 
man's  horror  of  a  ready  feminine  lachrymal  gland  ;  but  it 
was  not  like  Bessy  to  cry,  and  it  meant  something ;  and  then 
she  did  it  in  a  large,  goddess-like  way,  without  sniffling,  or 
choking,  or  getting  her  nose  red,  but  rather  with  a  gentle 
deliquescence,  a  harmonious  melting,  so  that  he  was  fain  to 
comfort  her  with  nearer  contact,  gentleness  in  his  own  sad 
eyes,  and  a  pressure  of  her  large  hand. 

"  It 's  all  right,  I  s'pose,"  she  said  sadly  ;   "  but  I  didn't 


330  THE    MAN   ON    THE    BEACH 

reckon  on  yer  havin'  any  relations,  but  thought  you  was 
alone,  like  me." 

James  North,  thinking  of  Hank  Fisher  and  the  "  mul- 
later,"  could  not  help  intimating  that  his  relations  were 
very  wealthy  and  fashionable  people,  and  had  visited  him 
last  summer.  A  recollection  of  the  manner  in  which  they 
had  so  visited  him,  and  his  own  reception  of  them,  pre- 
vented his  saying  more.  But  Miss  Bessy  could  not  forego 
a  certain  feminine  curiosity,  and  asked,  — 

"  Did  they  come  with  Sam  Baker's  team  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

«  Last  July  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  And  Sam  drove  the  horses  here  for  a  bite  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  And  them  's  your  relations  ?  " 

"  They  are." 

Miss  Robinson  reached  over  the  cradle  and  enfolded  the 
sleeping  infant  in  her  powerful  arms.  Then  she  lifted  her 
eyes,  wrathful  through  her  still  glittering  tears,  and  said, 
slowly,  "  They  don't  —  have  —  this  —  child  —  then  !  " 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  why  ?  /  saw  them  !  That 's  why,  and  enough  ! 
You  can't  play  any  such  gay  and  festive  skeletons  on  this 
poor  baby  for  flesh  and  blood  parents.  No,  sir  !  " 

"  I  think  you  judge  them  hastily,  Miss  Bessy,"  said 
North,  secretly  amused  ;  "  my  aunt  may  not,  at  first,  favora- 
bly impress  strangers,  yet  she  has  many  friends.  But  surely 
you  do  not  object  to  my  cousin  Maria,  the  young  lady  ?  " 

"  What !  that  dried  cuttlefish,  with  nothing  livin'  about 
her  but  her  eyes  ?  James  North,  ye  may  be  a  fool  like 
the  old  woman,  —  perhaps  it 's  in  the  family,  — but  ye  ain't 
a  devil  like  that  gal !  That  ends  it." 

And  it  did.  North  dispatched  a  second  letter  to  Maria, 
saying  that  he  had  already  made  other  arrangements  for  thp 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   BEACH  331 

baby.  Pleased  with  her  easy  victory,  Miss  Bessy  became 
more  than  usually  gracious,  and  the  next  day  bowed  her 
shapely  neck  meekly  to  the  yoke  of  her  teacher,  and  became 
a  docile  pupil.  James  North  could  not  have  helped  noti- 
cing her  ready  intelligence,  even  had  he  been  less  prejudiced 
in  her  favor  than  he  was  fast  becoming  now.  If  he  had 
found  it  pleasant  before  to  be  admonished  by  her,  there  was 
still  more  delicious  flattery  in  her  perfect  trust  in  his  omni- 
scient skill  as  a  pilot  over  this  unknown  sea.  There  was  a 
certain  enjoyment  in  guiding  her  hand  over  the  writing 
book,  that  I  fear  he  could  not  have  obtained  from  an  intel- 
lect less  graciously  sustained  by  its  physical  nature.  The 
weeks  flew  quickly  by  on  gossamer  wings,  and  when  she 
placed  a  bunch  of  larkspurs  and  poppies  in  his  hand  one 
morning,  he  remembered  for  the  first  time  that  it  was 
spring. 

I  cannot  say  that  there  was  more  to  record  of  Miss 
Bessy's  education  than  this.  Once  North,  half  jestingly, 
remarked  that  he  had  never  yet  seen  her  admirer,  Mr. 
Hank  Fisher.  Miss  Bessy  (coloring,  but  cool)  :  "  You 
never  will  !  "  North  (white,  but  hot)  :  "  Why  ?  "  Miss 
Bessy  (faintly)  :  "  I  'd  rather  not."  (North  resolutely)  : 
"  I  insist."  Bessy  (yielding)  :  "  As  my  teacher  ?  "  North 
(hesitatingly,  at  the  limitation  of  the  epithet)  :  "  Y-e-e-s !  " 
Bessy  :  "  And  you  '11  promise  never  to  speak  of  it  again  ?  " 
North :  "  Never."  Bessy  (slowly)  :  "  Well,' he  said  I  did 
an  awful  thing  to  go  over  to  your  cabin  and  stay."  North 
(in  the  genuine  simplicity  of  a  refined  nature)  :  "  But  how  ?  " 
Miss  Bessy  (half  piqued,  but  absolutely  admiring  that  na- 
ture) :  "  Quit !  and  keep  your  promise  !  " 

They  were  so  happy  in  these  new  relations  that  it  oc- 
curred to  Miss  Bessy  one  day  to  take  James  North  to  task 
for  obliging  her  to  ask  to  be  his  pupil.  "You  knew  how 
ignorant  I  was,"  she  added  ;  and  Mr.  North  retorted  by 
relating  to  her  the  doctor's  criticism  on  her  independence. 


832  THE   MAN   ON   THE    BEACH 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  added,  "  I  was  afraid  you 
would  not  take  it  as  kindly  as  he  thought." 

"  That  is,  you  thought  me  as  vain  as  yourself.  It  seems 
to  me  you  and  the  doctor  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  each 
other." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  laughed  North,  "  that  was  all  we 
said." 

"  And  you  did  n't  make  fun  of  me  ?  " 

Perhaps  it  was  not  necessary  for  North  to  take  her  hand 
to  emphasize  his  denial,  but  he  did. 

Miss  Bessy,  being  still  reminiscent,  perhaps  did  not  notice 
it.  "  If  it  had  n't  been  for  that  ar  —  I  mean  that  thar  — 
no,  that  baby  —  I  would  n't  have  known  you  !  "  she  said 
dreamily. 

"  No,"  returned  North  mischievously,  "  but  you  still 
would  have  known  Hank  Fisher." 

No  woman  is  perfect.  Miss  Bessy  looked  at  him  with  a 
sudden  —  her  first  and  last  —  flash  of  coquetry.  Then 
stooped  and  kissed  —  the  baby. 

James  North  was  a  simple  gentleman,  but  not  altogether 
a  fool.  He  returned  the  kiss,  but  not  vicariously. 

There  was  a  footstep  on  the  porch.  These  two  turned 
the  hues  of  a  dying  dolphin,  and  then  laughed.  It  was 
Joe.  He  held  a  newspaper  in  his  hand.  "  I  reckon  ye  woz 
right,  Mr.  North,  about  my  takin'  these  yar  papers  reg'lar. 
For  I  allow  here  's  suthin'  that  may  clar  up  the  mystery  o' 
that  baby's  parents."  With  the  hesitation  of  a  slowly 
grappling  intellect,  Joe  sat  down  on  the  table  and  read 
from  the  San  Francisco  "  Herald  "  as  follows :  "  '  It  is 
(now  ascertained  beyond  doubt  that  the  wreck  reported  by 
the  "  JEolus  "  was  the  American  brig  "  Pom  pare,"  bound 
hence  to  Tahiti.  The  worst  surmises  are  found  correct. 
The  body  of  the  woman  has  been  since  identified  as  that 
of  the  beauti-ful  daughter  of  —  of  —  of  —  Terp — Terp  — 
Terpish  '  —  Well !  I  swow  that  name  just  tackles  me." 


THE    MAN   ON   THE    BEACH  333 

"Gin  it  to  me,  dad,"  said  Bessy  pertly.  "You  nevei 
had  any  education,  anyway.  Hear  your  accomplished 
daughter."  With  a  mock  bow  to  the  new  schoolmaster, 
and  a  capital  burlesque  of  a  confident  schoolgirl,  she  strode 
to  the  middle  of  the  room,  the  paper  held  and  folded  book- 
wise  in  her  hands.  "  Ahem  !  Where  did  you  leave  off  ? 
Oh,  '  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Terpsichore  —  whose  name 
was  prom-i-nently  connected  with  a  mysterious  social 
scandal  of  last  year  —  the  gifted  but  unfortunate  Grace 
Chatterton  '  —  No  —  don't  stop  me  —  there  's  some  more  ! 
'  The  body  of  her  child,  a  lovely  infant  of  six  months, 
has  not  been  recovered,  and  it  is  supposed  was  washed 
overboard.'  There  !  maybe  that 's  the  child,  Mr.  North. 
Why,  dad  !  Look,  0  my  God  !  He  's  falling.  Catch  him, 
dad !  Quick  !  » 

But  her  strong  arm  had  anticipated  her  father's.  She 
caught  him,  lifted  him  to  the  bed,  on  which  he  lay  hence- 
forth for  many  days  unconscious.  Then  fever  supervened, 
and  delirium,  and  Dr.  Duchesne  telegraphed  for  his  friends  ; 
but  at  the  end  of  a  week  and  the  opening  of  a  summer  day 
the  storm  passed,  as  the  other  storm  had  passed,  and  he' 
awoke,  enfeebled,  but  at  peace.  Bessy  was  at  his  side  — 
he  was  glad  to  see  —  alone.  "  Bessy,  dear,"  he  said  hesi- 
tatingly, "  when  I  am  stronger  I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

"  I  know  it  all,  Jem,"  she  said  with  a  trembling  lip  ;  "  I 
heard  it  all  —  no,  not  from  them,  but  from  your  own  lips 
in  your  delirium.  I  'm  glad  it  came  from  you  —  even 
then." 

"  Do  you  forgive  me,  Bessy  ?  " 

She  pressed  her  lips  to  his  forehead,  and  said  hastily,  and 
then  falteringly,  as  if  afraid  of  her  impulse,  — 

«  Yes  —  yes." 

"  And  you  will  still  be  mother  to  the  child  ?  " 

"•  Her  child  ?  " 


334  THE   MAN   ON    THE    BEACH 

"  No,  dear,  riot  hers,  but  mine  !  " 

She  started,  cried  a  little,  and  then  putting  her  arm 
around  him,  said,  "  Yes." 

And  as  there  was  but  one  way  of  fulfilling  that  sacred 
promise,  they  were  married  in  the  autumn. 


ROGER   CATRON'S  FRIEND 

I  THIXK  that,  from  the  beginning,  we  all  knew  how  it 
would  end.  He  had  always  been  so  quiet  and  conventional, 
although  by  nature  an  impulsive  man  ;  always  so  temperate 
and  abstemious,  although  a  man  with  a  quick  appreciation 
of  pleasure;  always  so  cautious  and  practical,  although  an 
imaginative  man,  that  when,  at  last,  one  by  one  he  loosed 
these  bands,  and  gave  himself  up  to  a  life  perhaps  not 
worse  than  other  lives,  which  the  world  has  accepted  as  the 
natural  expression  of  their  various  owners,  we  at  once  decided 
that  the  case  was  a  hopeless  one.  And  when  one  night  we 
picked  him  up  out  of  the  Union  Ditch,  a  begrimed  and 
weather-worn  drunkard,  a  hopeless  debtor,  a  self-confessed 
spendthrift,  and  a  half-conscious  maudlin  imbecile,  we  knew 
that  the  end  had  come.  The  wife  he  had  abandoned  had 
in  turn  deserted  him  ;  the  woman  he  had  misled  had  al- 
ready realized  her  folly,  and  left  him  with  her  reproaches ; 
the  associates  of  his  reckless  life,  who  had  used  and  abused 
him,  had  found  him  no  longer  of  service,  or  even  amuse- 
ment, and  clearly  there  was  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  hand 
him  over  to  the  State,  and  we  took  him  to  the  nearest 
penitential  asylum.  Conscious  of  the  Samaritan  deed,  we 
went  back  to  our  respective  wives,  and  told  his  story.  It  is 
only  just  to  say  that  these  sympathetic  creatures  were  more 
interested  in  the  philanthropy  of  their  respective  husbands 
than  in  its  miserable  object.  "  It  was  good  and  kind  in 
you,  dear,"  said  loving  Mrs.  Maston  to  her  spouse,  as  re- 
turning home  that  night  he  flung  his  coat  on  a  chair  with 
an  air  of  fatigued  righteousness ;  "  it  was  like  your  kind 


336  ROGER   CATRON'S   FRIEND 

heart  to  care  for  that  beast ;  but  after  he  left  that  good  wife 
of  his  —  that  perfect  saint  —  to  take  up  with  that  awful  wo- 
man, I  think  I  'd  have  left  him  to  die  in  the  ditch.  Only  to 
think  of  it,  dear,  a  woman  that  you  would  n't  speak  to  !  " 
Here  Mr.  Maston  coughed  slightly,  colored  a  little,  mumbled 
something  about."  women  not  understanding  some  things," 
"  that  men  were  men,"  etc.,  and  then  went  comfortably  to 
sleep,  leaving  the  outcast  happily  oblivious  of  all  things, 
and  especially  this  criticism,  locked  up  in  Hangtown  jail. 

For  the  next  twelve  hours  he  lay  there,  apathetic  and 
half-conscious.  Recovering  from  this  after  a  while,  he 
became  furious,  vengeful,  and  unmanageable,  filling  the  cell 
and  corridor  with  maledictions  of  friend  and  enemy ;  and 
again  sullen,  morose,  and  watchful.  Then  he  refused  food, 
and  did  not  sleep,  pacing  his  limits  with  the  incessant 
feverish  tread  of  a  caged  tiger.  Two  physicians,  diagnosing 
his  case  from  the  scant  facts,  pronounced  him  insane,  and 
he  was  accordingly  transported  to  Sacramento.  But  on  the 
way  thither  he  managed  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  his  guards, 
and  escaped.  The  alarm  was  given,  a  hue  and  cry  followed 
him,  the  best  detectives  of  San  Francisco  were  on  his  track, 
and  finally  recovered  his  dead  body  —  emaciated  and  wasted 
by  exhaustion  and  fever  —  in  the  Stanislaus  Marshes,  identi- 
fied it,  and,  receiving  the  reward  of  $1000  offered  by  his 
surviving  relatives  and  family,  assisted  in  legally  establish- 
ing the  end  we  had  predicted. 

Unfortunately  for  the  moral,  the  facts  were  somewhat 
inconsistent  with  the  theory.  A  day  or  two  after  the  remains 
were  discovered  and  identified,  the  real  body  of  "  Roger  Ca- 
tron,  aged  fifty-two  years,  slight,  iron-gray  hair,  and  shabby 
in  apparel,"  as  the  advertisement  read,  dragged  itself,  travel- 
worn,  trembling,  and  disheveled,  up  the  steep  slope  of 
Deadwood  Hill.  How  he  should  do  it  he  had  long  since 
determined  —  ever  since  he  had  hidden  his  derringer,  a 
mere  baby  pistol,  from  the  vigilance  of  his  keepers.  Whert 


ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND  337 

he  should  do  it,  he  had  settled  within  his  mind  only  withiu 
the  last  few  moments.  Deadwood  Hill  was  seldom  fre- 
quented ;  his  body  might  lie  there  for  months  before  it  was 
discovered.  He  had  once  thought  of  the  river,  but  he 
remembered  it  had  an  ugly  way  of  exposing  its  secrets  on 
sand-bar  and  shallow,  and  that  the  body  of  Whiskey  Jim, 
bloated  and  disfigured  almost  beyond  recognition,  had  been 
once  delivered  to  the  eyes  of  Sandy  Bar,  before  breakfast, 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Stanislaus.  He  toiled  up  through 
the  chemisal  that  clothed  the  southern  slope  of  the  hill  until 
he  reached  the  bald,  storm-scarred  cap  of  the  mountain,  iron- 
ically decked  with  the  picked,  featherless  plumes  of  a  few 
dying  pines.  One,  stripped  of  all  but  two  lateral  branches, 
brought  a  boyish  recollection  to  his  fevered  brain.  Against 
a  background  of  dull  sunset  fire,  it  extended  two  gaunt 
arms  —  black,  rigid,  and  pathetic.  Calvary  ! 

AVith  the  very  word  upon  his  lips,  he  threw  himself,  face 
downwards,  on  the  ground  beneath  it,  and,  with  his  fingers 
clutched  in  the  soil,  lay  there  for  some  moments,  silent  and 
still.  In  this  attitude,  albeit  a  skeptic  and  unorthodox  man, 
he  prayed.  I  cannot  say  —  indeed,  I  dare  not  say  —  that  his 
prayer  was  heard,  or  that  God  visited  him  thus.  Let  us 
rather  hope  that  all  there  was  of  God  in  him,  in  this  crucial 
moment  of  agony  and  shame,  strove  outward  and  upward. 
Howbeit,  when  the  moon  rose  he  rose  too,  perhaps  a  trifle 
less  steady  than  the* planet,  and  began  to  descend  the  hill 
with  feverish  haste,  yet  with  this  marked  difference  between 
his  present  haste  and  his  former  recklessness,  that  it  seemed 
to  have  a  well-defined  purpose.  When  he  reached  the  road 
again,  he  struck  into  a  well-worn  trail,  where,  in  the  distance, 
a  light  faintly  twinkled.  Following  this  beacon,  he  kept  on, 
ind  at  last  flung  himself  heavily  against  the  door  of  the 
little  cabin  from  whose  window  the  light  had  shone.  As  he 
did  so,  it  opened  upon  the  figure  of  a  square,  thickset  man, 
who,  in  the  impetuosity  of  Catron's  onset,  received  him, 
literally,  in  his  arms. 


338  KOGEK   CATRON  S   FRIEND 

"  Captain  Dick,"  said  Eoger  Catron  hoarsely,  —  "  Cap- 
tain Dick,  save  me  !  For  God's  sake,  save  me  !  " 

Captain  Dick,  without  a  word,  placed  a  large,  protect- 
ing hand  upon  Catron's  shoulder,  allowed  it  to  slip  to  his 
waist,  and  then  drew  his  visitor  quietly,  but  firmly,  within 
the  cahin.  Yet,  in  the  very  movement,  he  had  managed 
to  gently  and  unobtrusively  possess  himself  of  Catron's 
pistol. 

"  Save  ye !  From  which  ? "  asked  Captain  Dick,  as 
quietly  and  unobtrusively  dropping  the  derringer  in  a 
flour  sack. 

"  From  everything,"  gasped  Catron ;  "  from  the  men  that 
are  hounding  me,  from  my  family,  from  my  friends,  but 
most  of  all  —  from,  from : —  myself  !  " 

He  had,  in  turn,  grasped  Captain  Dick,  and  forced  him 
frenziedly  against  the  wall.  The  Captain  released  himself, 
and,  taking  the  hands  of  his  excited  visitor,  said  slowly,  — 

"  Ye  want  some  blue  mass  —  suthin'  to  onload  your 
liver.  I  '11  get  it  up  for  ye." 

"  But,  Captain  Dick,  I  'm  an  outcast,  shamed,  dis- 
graced "  — 

"  Two  on  them  pills  taken  now,  and  two  in  the  morning," 
continued  the  Captain  gravely,  rolling  a  bolus  in  his 
fingers,  "  will  bring  yer  head  to  the  wind  again.  Yet 
fallin'  to  leeward  all  the  time,  and  ye  want  to  brace  up." 

"  But,  Captain,"  continued  the  agonized  man,  again 
clutching  the  sinewy  arms  of  his  host,  and  forcing  his  livid 
face  and  fixed  eyes  within  a  few  inches  of  Captain  Dick's ; 
"  hear  me  !  You  must  and  shall  hear  me.  I  've  been  in 
jail  —  do  you  hear  ?  —  in  jail,  like  a  common  felon.  I  've 
been  sent  to  the  asylum,  like  a  demented  pauper.  I  've  "  — 

"  Two  now,  and  two  in  the  morning,"  continued  the 
Captain  quietly,  releasing  one  hand  only  to  place  two  enor- 
mous pills  in  the  mouth  of  the  excited  Catron.  "  Thar  now 
• — a  drink  o'  whiskey  —  thar,  that '11  do  —  just  enough  to  take 


ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND  339 

the  taste  out  of  yer  mouth,  wash  it  down,  and  belay  it,  so 
to  speak.  And  how  are  the  mills  running,  gin'rally,  over  at 
the  Bar  ?  " 

"  Captain  Dick,  hear  me  —  if  you  are  my  friend,  for  God's 
sake  hear  me !  An  hour  ago  I  should  have  been  a  dead 
man  "  — 

"  They  say  that  Sam  Bolin  hez  sold  out  of  the  '  Excel- 


lin  Dick!  Listen,  for  God's  sake;  I  have 
suffered  "  — 

But  Captain  Dick  was  engaged  in  critically  examining 
his  man.  "  I  guess  I  '11  ladle  ye  out  some  o'  that  soothin' 
mixture  I  bought  down  at  Simpson's  t'  other  day,"  he  said 
reflectively.  "  And  I  onderstood  the  boys  up  on  the  Bar 
thinks  the  rains  will  set  in  airly." 

But  here  Nature  was  omnipotent.  Worn  by  exhaus- 
tion, excitement,  and  fever,  and  possibly  a  little  affected 
by  Captain  Dick's  later  potion,  Roger  Catron  turned  white, 
and  lapsed  against  the  wall.  In  an  instant  Captain  Dick 
had  caught  him,  as  a  child,  lifted  him  in  his  stalwart  arms, 
wrapped  a  blanket  around  him,  and  deposited  him  in  his 
bunk.  Yet,  even  in  his  prostration,  Catron  made  one  more 
despairing  appeal  for  mental  sympathy  from  his  host. 

"  I  know  I  'm  sick  —  dying,  perhaps,"  he  gasped,  from 
under  the  blankets ;  "  but  promise  me,  whatever  comes, 
tell  my  wife  : —  say  to  "  — 

"  It  has  been  lookin'  consid'ble  like  rain,  lately,  here 
abouts,"  continued  the  Captain  coolly,  in  a  kind  of  am- 
phibious slang,  characteristic  of  the  man ;  "  but  in  these 
yer  latitudes  no  man  kin  set  up  to  be  a  weather-sharp." 

"  Captain  !   will  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Yer  goin'  to  sleep  now,"  said  the  Captain  potentially. 

"  But,  Captain,  they  are  pursuing  me !  If  they  should 
track  me  here  ?  " 

"  Thar  is  a  rifle  over  thar,  and  yer  's  my  navy  revolver. 


340  EOGER   CATRON'S   FRIEND 

When  I've  emptied  them,  and  want  you  to  bear  a  hand 
I  '11  call  ye.  Just  now  your  lay  is  to  turn  in.  It  7s  my 
watch." 

There  was  something  so  positive,  strong,  assuring,  and 
a  little  awesome  in  the  Captain's  manner  that  the  trembling, 
nervously  prostrated  man  beneath  the  blankets  forbore  to 
question  further.  In  a,  few  minutes  his  breathing,  albeit 
hurried  and' irregular,  announced  that  he  slept.  The  Cap- 
tain then  arose,  for  a  moment  critically  examined  the 
sleeping  man,  holding  his  head  a  little  on  one  side,  whistling 
softly,  and  stepping  backwards  to  get  a  good  perspective, 
but  always  with  contemplative  good  humor,  as  if  Catron 
were  a  work  of  art,  which  he  (the  Captain)  had  created,  yet 
one  that  he  was  not  yet  entirely  satisfied  with.  Then  he 
put  a  large  pea-jacket  over  his  flannel  blouse,  dragged  a 
Mexican  serape  from  the  corner,  and  putting  it  over  his 
shoulders,  opened  the  cabin  door,  sat  down  on  the  door- 
step, and  leaning  back  against  the  doorpost,  composed 
himself  to  meditation.  The  moon  lifted  herself  slowly 
over  the  crest  of  Deadwood  Hill,  and  looked  down,  not 
unkindly,  on  his  broad,  white,  shaven  face,  round  and 
smooth  as  her  own  disc,  encircled  with  a  thin  fringe  of 
white  hair  and  whiskers.  Indeed,  he  looked  so  like  the 
prevailing  caricatures  in  a  comic  almanac  of  planets,  with 
dimly  outlined  features,  that  the  moon  would  have  been 
quite  justified  in  flirting  with  him,  as  she  clearly  did, 
insinuating  a  twinkle  into  his  keen,  gray  eyes,  making  the 
shadow  of  a  dimple  on  his  broad,  fat  chin,  and  otherwise 
idealizing  him  after  the  fashion  of  her  hero-worshiping 
sex.  Touched  by  these  benign  influences,  Captain  Dick 
presently  broke  forth  in  melody.  His  song  Avas  various, 
but  chiefly,  I  think,  confined  to  the  recital  of  the  exploits 
of  one  "Lorenzo,"  who,  as  related  by  himself  — 

"  Shipped  on  board  of  a  Liner, 

'Kenzo,  boys,  'Renzo,"  — 


ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND  341 

a  fact  that  seemed  to  have  deprived  him  at  once  of  all 
metre,  grammar,  or  even  the  power  of  coherent  narrative. 
At  times  a  groan  or  a  half-articulate  cry  would  come  from 
the  "  bunk  "  whereon  Roger  Catron  lay,  —  a  circumstance 
that  always  seemed  to  excite  Captain  Dick  to  greater  effort 
and  more  rapid  vocalization.  Toward  morning,  in  the  midst 
of  a  prolonged  howl  from  the  Captain,  who  was  finishing 
the  "  Starboard  Watch,  Ahoy  !  "  in  three  different  keys, 
Roger  Catron's  voice  broke  suddenly  and  sharply  from  his 
enwrappings,  — 

"  Dry  up,  you  d— d  old  fool,  will  you  ?  " 
Captain  Dick  stopped  instantly.  Rising  to  his  feet,  and 
looking  over  the  landscape,  he  took  all  Nature  into  his  con- 
fidence in  one  inconceivably  arch  and  crafty  wink.  "  He  's 
coming  up  to  the  wind,"  he  said  softly,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"  The  pills  is  fetchin'  him.  Steady  now,  boys,  steady. 
Steady  as  she  goes  on  her  course,"  and  with  another  wink 
of  ineffable  wisdom,  he  entered  the  cabin  and  locked  the 
door. 

Meanwhile,  the  best  society  of  Sandy  Bar  was  kind  to 
the  newly  made  widow.  Without  being  definitely  expressed, 
it  was  generally  felt  that  sympathy  with  her  was  now  safe, 
and  carried  no  moral  responsibility  with  it.  Even  practical 
and  pecuniary  aid,  which  before  had  been  withheld,  lest  it 
should  be  diverted  from  its  proper  intent,  and  perhaps, 
through  the  weakness  of  the  wife,  made  to  minister  to  the 
wickedness  of  the  husband  —  even  that  was  now  openly 
suggested.  Everybody  felt  that  somebody  should  do  some- 
thing for  the  widow.  A  few  did  it.  Her  own  sex  rallied 
to  her  side,  generally  with  large  sympathy,  but,  unfor- 
tunately, small  pecuniary  or  practical  result.  At  last,  when 
the  feasibility  of  her  taking  a  boarding-house  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  identifying  herself  with  that  large  class  of  Ameri- 
can gentlewomen  who  have  seen  better  days,  but  clearl*' 


342  ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND 

are  on  the  road  never  to  see  them  again,  was  suggested,  i 
few  of  her  own  and  her  husband's  rich  relatives  came  tc 
the  front  to  rehabilitate  her.  It  was  easier  to  take  her  into 
their  homes  as  an  equal',  than  to  refuse  to  call  upon  her  as 
the  mistress  of  a  lodging-house  in  the  adjoining  street.  And 
upon  inspection  it  was  found  that  she  was  still  quite  an 
eligible  partie,  prepossessing,  and  withal,  in  her  widow's 
weeds,  a  kind  of  poetical  and  sentimental  presence,  as  ne- 
cessary in  a  wealthy  and  fashionable  American  family  as 
a  work  of  art.  "  Yes,  poor  Cai'oline  has  had  a  sad,  sad  his- 
tory," the  languid  Mrs.  Walker  Catron  would  say,  "  and 
we  all  sympathize  with  her  deeply  ;  Walker  always  regards 
her  as  a  sister."  What  was  this  dark  history  never  came 
out,  but  its  very  mystery  always  thrilled  the  visitor,  and 
seemed  to  indicate  plainly  the  respectability  of  the  hostess. 
An  American  family  without  a  genteel  skeleton  in  its 
closet  could  scarcely  add  to  that  gossip  which  keeps  society 
from  forgetting  its  members.  Nor  was  it  altogether  unnat- 
ural that  presently  Mrs.  Roger  Catron  lent  herself  to  this 
sentimental  deception,  and  began  to  think  that  she  really 
was  a  more  exquisitely  aggrieved  woman  than  she  imagined. 
At  times,  when  this  vague  load  of  iniquity  put  upon  her 
dead  husband  assumed,  through  the  mystery  of  her  friends, 
the  rumor  of  murder  and  highway  robbery,  and  even  an 
attempt  upon  her  own  life,  she  went  to  her  room,  a  little 
frightened,  and  had  "  a  good  cry,"  reappearing  more  mourn- 
ful and  pathetic  than  ever,  and  corroborating  the  suspicions 
of  her  friends.  Indeed,  one  or  two  impulsive  gentlemen, 
fired  by  her  pathetic  eyelids,  openly  regretted  that  the 
deceased  had  not  been  hanged  ;  to  which  Mrs.  Walker  Catron 
responded  that,  "  Thank  Heaven,  they  were  spared  at  least 
that  disgrace !  "  and  so  sent  conviction  into  the  minds  of 
her  hearers. 

It  was  scarcely  two  months  after  this  painful  close  oi 
her  matrimonial  life  that  one  rainy  February  morning  the 


ROGER   CATRON'S   FRIEND  343 

servant  brought  a  card  to  Mrs.  Koger  Catron,  bearing  the 
following  inscription  :  — 

"  Richard  Graeme  Macleod." 

Women  are  more  readily  affected  by  names  than  we  are, 
and  there  was  a  certain  Highland  respectability  about  this 
that,  albeit  not  knowing  its  possessor,  impelled  Mrs.  Catron 
to  send  word  that  she  "  would  be  down  in  a  few  moments." 
At  the  end  of  this  femininely  indefinite  period  —  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  by  the  French  clock  on  the  mantlepiece  —  Mrs. 
Roger  Catron  made  her  appearance  in  the  reception-room. 
It  was  a  dull,  wet  day,  as  I  have  said  before,  but  on  the 
Contra  Costa  hills  the  greens  and  a  few  flowers  were  already 
showing  a  promise  of  rejuvenescence  and  an  early  spring. 
There  was  something  of  this,  I  think,  in  Mrs.  Catron's 
presence,  shown  perhaps  in  the  coquettish  bow  of  a  ribbon, 
in  a  larger  and  more  delicate  ruche,  in  a  tighter  belting  of 
her  black  cashmere  gown ;  but  still  there  was  a  suggestion 
of  recent  rain  in  the  eyes,  and  threatening  weather.  As 
she  entered  the  room,  the  sun  came  out,  too,  and  revealed 
the  prettiness  and  delicacy  of  her  figure,  and  I  regret  to 
state,  also,  the  somewhat  obtrusive  plainness  of  her  visitor. 

"  I  knew  ye  'd  be  sorter  disapp'inted  at  first,  not  gettin' 
the  regular  bearings  o'  my  name,  but  I  'm  '  Captain  Dick.' 
Mebbee  ye  've  heard  your  husband  —  that  is,  your  husband 
ez  waz,  Koger  Catron  —  speak  o'  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Catron,  feeling  herself  outraged  arid  deceived  in 
belt,  ruche,  and  ribbon,  freezingly  admitted  that  she  had 
heard  of  him  before. 

"  In  course,"  said  the  Captain  ;  "  why,  Lord  love  ye,  Mrs. 
Catron  —  ez  waz  —  he  used  to  be  all  the  time  talkin'  of 
ye.  And  allers  in  a  free,  easy,  confidential  way.  Why,  one 
night  —  don't  ye  remember  ?  —  when  he  came  home,  car- 
ry in',  mebbee,  more  canvas  than  was  seamanlike,  and  you 
shet  him  out  the  house,  and  laid  for  him  with  a  broomstick, 
or  one  o'  them  crokay  mallets,  I  disremember  which,  and 


544  ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND 

he  kem  over  to  me,  ole  Captain  Dick,  and  I  sez  to  him,  sez 
I,  '  Why,  Roger,  them  's  only  love  pats,  and  yer  condishun 
is  such  ez  to  make  any  woman  mad-like.'  Why,  Lord 
bless  ye !  there  ain't  enny  of  them  mootool  differences  you 
and  him  hed  ez  I  does  n't  knows  on,  and  did  n't  always 
stand  by,  and  lend  ye  a  hand,  and  heave  in  a  word  or  two 
of  advice  when  called  on." 

Mrs.  Catron,  ice  everywhere  but  in  her  pink  cheeks,  was 
glad  that  Mr.  Catron  seemed  to  have  always  a  friend  to 
whom  he  confided  everything,  even  the  base  falsehoods  he 
had  invented. 

"  Mebbee  now  they  waz  falsehoods,"  said  the  Captain 
thoughtfully.  "  But  don't  ye  go  to  think,"  he  added  con- 
scientiously, "  that  he  kept  on  that  tack  all  the  time.  Why 
that  day  he  made  a  raise,  gambling,  I  think,  over  at  Dutch 
Flat,  and  give  ye  them  bracelets  —  regular  solid  gold  — 
why,  it  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  have  heard 
him  talk  about  you  —  said  you  had  the  prettiest  arm  in 
Californy.  Well,"  said  the  Captain,  looking  around  for  a 
suitable  climax,  —  "  well,  you  'd  have  thought  that  he  was 
sorter  proud  of  ye !  Why,  I  woz  with  him  in  'Frisco  when 
he  bought  that  A  1  prize  bonnet  for  ye  for  $75,  and  not 
hevin'  over  $50  in  his  pocket,  borryed  the  other  $25  outer 
me.  Mebbee  it  was  a  little  fancy  for  a  bonnet ;  but  I 
allers  thought  he  took  it  a  little  too  much  to  heart  when 
you  swopped  it  off  for  that  Dollar  Varden  dress,  just 
because  that  Lawyer  Maxwell  said  the  Dollar  Vardens  was 
becomin'  to  ye.  Ye  know,  I  reckon,  he  was  always  sorter 
jealous  of  that  thar  shark  "  — 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask  what  your  business  is  with  me  ?  " 
interrupted  Mrs.  Catron  sharply. 

"In  course,"  said  the  Captain,  rising.  "Ye  see,"  he 
said  apologetically,  "  we  got  to  talking  o'  Roger  and  ole 
times,  and  I  got  a  little  out  o'  my  course.  It 's  a  matter 
of" — he  began  to  fumble  in  his  pockets,  and  finally  pro- 


KOGEB  CATRON'S  FRIEND  345 

duced  a  small  memorandum-book,  which  he  glanced  over 
—  "  it 's  a  matter  of  $250." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Catron,  in  indig- 
nant astonishment. 

"  On  the  loth  of  July,"  said  the  Captain,  consulting  his 
memorandum-book,  "  Roger  sold  his  claim  at  Nye's  Ford 
for  $1500.  Now,  le'  's  see.  Thar  was  nigh  on  $350  ez  he 
admitted  to  me  he  lost  at  poker,  and  we  '11  add  $50  to  that 
for  treating,  supper,  and  drinks  gin'rally  —  put  Roger  down 
for  $400.  Then  there  was  you.  Now  you  spent  $250  on 
your  trip  to  'Frisco  thet  summer  ;  then  $200  went  for  them 
presents  you  sent  your  Aunt  Jane,  and  thar  Avas  $400  for 
house  expenses.  Well,  thet  foots  up  $1250.  Now,  what 's 
become  of  thet  other  $250  ?  " 

Mrs.  Catron's  woman's  impulse  to  retaliate  sharply  over- 
came her  first  natural  indignation  at  her  visitor's  impudence. 
Therein  she  lost,  womanlike,  her  vantage. 

"Perhaps  the  woman  he  fled  with  can  tell  you,"  she  said 
savagely. 

"  Thet,"  said  the  Captain  slowly,  "  is  a  good,  a  reason- 
able idee.  But  it  ain't  true  ;  from  all  I  can  gather  she  lent 
him  money.  It  didn't  go  thar." 

"  Roger  Catron  left  me  penniless,"  said  Mrs.  Catron 
hotly. 

"Thet's  jist  what  gets  me.  You  oughter  have  $250 
somewhar  lying  round." 

Mrs.  Catron  saw  her  error.  "  May  I  ask  what  right  you 
have  to  question  me  ?  If  you  have  any,  I  must  refer  you 
to  my  lawyer  or  my  brother-in-law  ;  if  you  have  none,  I 
hope  you  will  not  oblige  me  to  call  the  servants  to  put  you 
from  the  house." 

"  Thet  sounds  reasonable  and  square,  too,"  said  the 
Captain  thoughtfully.  "I've  a  power  of  attorney  from 
Roger  Catron  to  settle  up  his  affairs  and  pay  his  debts, 
given  a  week  afore  them  detectives  handed  ye  over  his 


346  ROGEK  CATRON'S  FRIEND 

dead  body.  But  I  thought  that  you  and  me  might  save 
lawyer's  fees  and  all  fuss  and  feathers,  ef,  in  a  sociable,  sad- 
like  way  —  lookin'  back  sorter  on  Roger  ez  you  and  me 
once  knew  him  —  we  had  a  quiet  talk  together." 

"  Good  -  morning,  sir,"  .said  Mrs.  Catron,  rising  stiffly. 
The  Captain  hesitated  a  moment ;  a  slight  flush  of  color 
came  in  his  face  as  he  at  last  rose  as  the  lady  backed  out 
of  the  room.  "  Good-morning,  ma'am,"  said  the  Captain, 
and  departed. 

Very  little  was  known  of  this  interview  except  the  general 
impression  in  the  family  that  Mrs.  Catron  had  successfully 
resisted  a  vague  attempt  at  blackmail  from  one  of  her 
husband's  former  dissolute  companions.  Yet  it  is  only  fair 
to  say  that  Mrs.  Catron  snapped  up,  quite  savagely,  two 
male  sympathizers  on  this  subject,  and  cried  a  good  deal 
for  two  days  afterward,  and  once,  in  the  hearing  of  her 
sister-in-law,  to  that  lady's  great  horror,  "  wished  she  was 
dead." 

A  week  after  this  interview,  as  Lawyer  Phillips  sat  in  his 
office,  he  was  visited  by  Macleod.  Recognizing,  possibly, 
some  practical  difference  between  the  widow  and  the 
lawyer,  Captain  Dick  this  time  first  produced  his  creden- 
tials, —  a  "  power  of  attorney."  "  I  need  not  tell  you,"  said 
Phillips,  "  that  the  death  of  your  principal  renders  this 
instrument  invalid,  and  I  suppose  you  know  that,  leaving 
no  will  and  no  property,  his  estate  has  not  been  admin- 
istered upon." 

"  Mebbee  it  is,  and  mebbee  it  isn't.  But  I  hain't  askin' 
for  anythin'  but  information.  There  was  a  bit  o'  prop'ty 
and  a  mill  onto  it,  over  at  Heavy  tree,  ez  sold  for  $10,000. 
I  don't  see,"  said  the  Captain,  consulting  his  memorandum- 
book,  "  ez  he  got  anything  out  of  it." 

"It  was  mortgaged  for  $7000,"  said  the  lawyer  quickly 
'  and  the  interest  and  fees  amount  to  about  $3000  more." 

"  The  mortgage  was  given  as  security  for  a  note  ?  " 


ROGER   CATRON'S   FRIEND  347 

"  Yes,  a  gambling  debt,"  said  the  lawyer  sharply. 

"  Thet  's  so,  and  my  belief  ez  that  it  Avas  n't  a  square 
game.  He  shouldn't  hev  given  no  note.  Why,  don't  ye 
•mind,  'way  back  in  '60,  when  you  and  me  waz  in  Marys- 
ville,  that  night  that  you  buckod  agin  faro,  and  lost  seving 
hundred  dollars,  and  then  refoosed  to  take  up  your  checks., 
saying  it  was  a  fraud  and  gambling  debt  ?  And  don't  ye 
mind  when  that  chap  kicked  ye,  and  I  helped  to  drag  him 
off  ye  —  and  "  — 

"  I  'm  busy  now,  Mr.  Macleod,"  said  Phillips  hastily ; 
"  my  clerk  will  give  you  all  the  information  you  require. 
Good-morning." 

"  It 's  mighty  queer,"  said  the  Captain  thoughtfully,  as 
he  descended  the  stairs,  "  but  the  moment  the  conversation 
gets  limber  and  sociable-like,  and  I  gets  to  runnin'  free 
under  easy  sail,  it 's  always  '  Good-morning,  Captain,'  and 
we  're  becalmed." 

By  some  occult  influence,  however,  all  the  foregoing  con- 
versation, slightly  exaggerated,  and  the  whole  interview  of 
the  Captain  with  the  widow,  with  sundry  additions,  became 
the  common  property  of  Sandy  Bar,  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  boys.  There  was  scarcely  a  person  who  had  ever 
had  business  or  social  relation  with  Roger  Catron,  whom 
"  The  Frozen  Truth,"  as  Sandy  Bar  delighted  to  designate 
the  Captain,  had  not  "  interviewed,"  as  simply  and  directly. 
It  is  said  that  he  closed  a  conversation  with  one  of  the  San 
Francisco  detectives,  who  had  found  Roger  Catron's  body, 
in  these  words  :  "  And  now  hevin'  got  throo  bizness,  I  was 
goin'  to  ask  ye  what 's  gone  of  Mat  Jones,  who  was  with 
ye  in  the  bush  in  Austraily.  Lord,  how  he  got  me  quite 
interested  in  ye,  telling  me  how  you  and  him  got  out  on  a 
ticket-of-leave,  and  was  chasei  by  them  milishy  guards,  and 
at  last  swam  out  to  a  San  Francisco  bark  and  escaped ;  " 
but  here  the  inevitable  pressure  of  previous  business  always 
stopped  the  Captain's  conversational  flow.  The  natural 


848  ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND 

result  of  this  was  a  singular  reaction  in  favor  of  the  late 
Roger  Catron  in  the  public  sentiment  of  Sandy  Bar,  so 
strong,  indeed,  as  to  induce  the  Rev.  Mr.  Joshua  M'Snagly, 
the  next  Sunday,  to  combat  it  with  the  moral  of  Catron's 
life.  After  the  service,  he  was  approached  in  the  vestibule, 
and  in  the  hearing  of  some  of  his  audience,  by  Captain 
Dick,  with  the  following  compliment :  "  In  many  p'ints  yc: 
hed  jess  got  Roger  Catron  down  to  a  hair.  I  knew  ye  'ti 
do  it.  Why,  Lord  love  ye,  you  and  him  had  p'ints  in 
common;  and  when  he  giv'  ye  that  hundred  dollars  arter 
the  fire  in  Sacramento,  to  help  ye  rebuild  the  parsonage, 
he  said  to  me  —  me  not  likin'  ye  on  account  o'  my  being 
on  the  committee  that  invited  ye  to  resign  from  Marysville 
all  along  o'  that  affair  with  Deacon  Pursell's  darter  ;  and  a 
piece  she  was,  parson  !  eh  ?  —  well,  Roger,  he  ups  and  sez 
to  me,  '  Every  man  hez  his  faults/  sez  he  ;  and,  sez  he, 
'there's  no  reason  why  a  parson  ain't  a  human  being  like 
us,  arid  that  gal  o'  Pursell  's  is  pizen,  ez  I  know.'  So  ye 
see,  I  seed  that  ye  was  hittin'  yourself  over  Catron's 
shoulder,  like  them  early  martyrs."  But  here,  as  Captain 
Dick  was  clearly  blocking  up  all  egress  from  the  church, 
the  sexton  obliged  him  to  move  on,  and  again  he  was 
stopped  in  his  conversational  career. 

But  only  for  a  time.  Before  long,  it  was  Avhispered 
that  Captain  Dick  had  ordered  a  meeting  of  the  creditors, 
debtors,  and  friends  of  Roger  Catron  at  Robinson's  Hall. 
It  was  suggested,  with  some  show  of  reason,  that  this  had 
been  done  at  the  instigation  of  various  practical  jokers  oi 
Sandy  Bar,  who  had  imposed  on  the  simple  directness  of 
the  Captain,  and  the  attendance  that  night  certainly  indi- 
cated something  more  than  a  mere  business  meeting.  All  of 
Sandy  Bar  crowded  into  Robinson's  Hall,  and  longxbefore 
Captain  Dick  made  his  appearance  on  the  platform,  with 
his  inevitable  memorandum-book,  every  inch  of  floor  was 
crowded. 


ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND  349 

The  Captain  began  to  read  the  expenditures  of  Koger 
Catron  with  relentless  fidelity  of  detail.  The  several  losses 
by  poker,  the  whiskey  bills,  and  the  record  of  a  "jamboree  " 
at  Tooley's,  the  vague  expenses  whereof  footed  up  $275, 
were  received  with  enthusiastic  cheers  by  the  audience.  A 
single  milliner's  bill  for  $125  was  hailed  with  delight; 
$100  expended  in  treating  the  Vestal  Virgin  Combination 
Troupe  almost  canonized  his  memory  ;  $50  for  a  simple 
buggy  ride  with  Deacon  Fisk  brought  down  the  house; 
$500  advanced,  without  security  and  unpaid,  for  the  elec- 
tioneering expenses  of  Assemblyman  Jones,  who  had  re- 
cently introduced  a  bill  to  prevent  gambling  and  the  sale 
of  lager  beer  on  Sundays,  was  received  with  an  ominous 
groan.  One  or  two  other  items  of  money  loaned  occasioned 
the  withdrawal  of  several  gentlemen  from  the  audience 
amidst  the  hisses  or  ironical  cheers  of  the  others. 

At  last  Captain  Dick  stopped  and  advanced  to  the  foot- 
lights. 

"  Gentlemen  and  friends,"  he  said  slowly  ;  "  I  foots  up 
$25,000  as  Roger  Catron  hez  made,  fa'r  and  square,  in  this 
yer  county.  I  foots  up  $27,000  ez  he  has  spent  in  this  yer 
county.  I  puts  it  to  you  ez  men — fa'r-minded  men  —  ef 
this  man  was  a  pauper  and  debtor  ?  I  put  it  to  you  ez  fa'r- 
minded  men  —  ez  free  and  easy  men  —  ez  political  economists 
—  ez  this  the  kind  of  men  to  impoverish  a  county  ?  " 

An  overwhelming  and  instantaneous  "  No !  "  almost 
drowned  the  last  utterance  of  the  speaker. 

"Thar  is  only  one  item,"  said  Captain  Dick  slowly, 
"  only  one  item,  that  ez  men  —  ez  fa'r-minded  men  —  ez 
political  economists  —  it  seems  to  me  we  hez  the  right  to 
question,  It's  this  :  Thar  is  an  item,  read  to  you  by  me, 
of  $2000  paid  to  certing  San  Francisco  detectives,  paid  out 
o'  the  assets  o'  Roger  Catron,  for  the  finding  of  Roger 
Catron's  body.  Gentlemen  of  Sandy  Bar  and  friends,  1 
found  that  body,  and  yer  it  is  !  " 


350  ROGER  CATRON'S  FRIEND 

And  Koger  Cation,  a  little  pale  and  nervous,  but  pal- 
pably in  the  flesh,  stepped  upon  the  platform. 

Of  course  the  newspapers  were  full  of  it  the  next  day. 
Of  course,  in  due  time,  it  appeared  as  a  garbled  and  romantic 
item  in  the  San  Francisco  press.  Of  course  Mrs.  Catron, 
on  reading  it,  fainted,  and  for  two  days  said  that  this  last 
cruel  blow  ended  all  relations  between  her  husband  and 
herself.  On  the  third  day  she  expressed  her  belief  that,  if 
he  had  had  the  slightest  feeling  for  her  he  would  long  since, 
for  the  sake  of  mere  decency,  have  communicated  with  her. 
On  the  fourth  day  she  thought  she  had  been,  perhaps,  badly 
advised,  had  an  open  quarrel  with  her  relatives,  and  inti- 
mated that  a  wife  had  certain  obligations,  etc.  On  the  sixth 
day,  still'  not  hearing  from  him,  she  quoted  Scripture,  spoke 
of  a  seventy-times-seven  forgiveness,  and  went  generally  into 
mild  hysterics.  On  the  seventh,  she  left  in  the  morning 
train  for  Sandy  Bar. 

And  really  I  don't  know  as  I  have  anything  more  to  tell, 
I  dined  with  them  recently,  and,  upon  my  word,  a  more 
decorous,  correct,  conventional,  and  dull  dinner  I  never  ate 
in  my  life. 


"JINNY" 

I  THINK  that  the  few  who  were  permitted  to  know  and 
love  the  object  of  this  sketch  spent  the  rest  of  their  days, 
not  only  in  an  attitude  of  apology  for  having  at  first  failed 
to  recognize  her  higher  nature,  but  of  remorse  that  they 
should  have  ever  lent  a  credulous  ear  to  a  priori  tradition 
concerning  her  family  characteristics.  She  had  not  escaped 
that  calumny  which  she  shared  with  the  rest  of  her  sex  for 
those  youthful  follies,  levities,  and  indiscretions  which  be- 
long to  immaturity.  It  is  very  probable  that  the  firmness 
that  distinguished  her  maturer  will  in  youth  might  have 
been  taken  for  obstinacy,  that  her  nice  discrimination  might 
at  the  same  period  have  been  taken  for  adolescent  caprice, 
and  that  the  positive  expression  of  her  quick  intellect  might 
have  been  thought  youthful  impertience  before  her  years 
had  Avon  respect  for  her  j  udgment. 

She  was  foaled  at  Indian  Creek,  and  one  month  later, 
when  she  was  brought  over  to  Sawyer's  Bar,  was  considered 
the  smallest  donkey  ever  seen  in  the  foothills.  The  legend 
that  she  was  brought  over  in  one  of  "  Dan  the  Quartz 
Crusher's "  boots  required  corroboration  from  that  gentle 
man  ;  but  his  denial  being  evidently  based  upon  a  masculine 
vanity  regarding  the  size  of  his  foot  rather  than  a  desire  to 
be  historically  accurate,*  it  went  for  nothing.  It  is  certain 
that  for  the  next  two  months  she  occupied  the  cabin  of 
Dan,  until,  perhaps  incensed  at  this  and  other  scandals,  she 
one  night  made  her  way  out.  "  I  had  n't  the  least  idee  wot 
woz  comin',"  said  Dan ;  "  but  about  midnight  I  seemed  to 
hear  hail  onto  the  roof,  and  a  shower  of  rocks  and  stones 


352  "  JINNY  " 

like  to  a  blast  started  in  the  canon.  When  I  got  up  and 
struck  a  light,  thar  was  suthin'  like  onto  a  cord  o'  kindlin' 
wood  and  splinters  whar  she  'd  stood  asleep,  and  a  hole  in 
the  side  o'  the  shanty,  and  —  no  Jinny  !  Lookin'  at  them 
hoofs  o'  hern  —  and  mighty  porty  they  is  to  look  at,  too  — 
you  would  allow  she  could  do  it !  "  I  fear  that  this  per- 
formance laid  the  foundation  of  her  later  infelicitous  reputa- 
tion, and  perhaps  awakened  in  her  youthful  breast  a  mis- 
placed ambition,  and  an  emulation  which  might  at  that  time 
have  been  diverted  into  a  nobler  channel.  For  the  fame  of 
this  juvenile  performance  —  and  its  possible  promise  in  the 
future  —  brought  at  once  upon  her  the  dangerous  flattery 
and  attention  of  the  whole  camp.  Under  intelligently  di- 
rected provocation  she  would  repeat  her  misguided  exercise, 
until  most  of  the  scanty  furniture  of  the  cabin  was  reduced 
to  a  hopeless  wreck,  and  sprains  and  callosities  were  devel- 
oped upon  the  limbs  of  her  admirers.  Yet  even  at  this 
early  stage  of  her  history,  that  penetrating  intellect  which 
was  in  after  years  her  dominant  quality  was  evident  to  all. 
She  could  not  be  made  to  kick  at  quartz  tailings,  at  a  barrel 
of  Boston  crackers,  or  at  the  head  or  shin  of  "  Nigger  Pete." 
An  artistic  discrimination  economized  her  surplus  energy. 
"Ef  you  '11  notiss,"  said  Dan,  with  a  large  parental  softness, 
"she  never  lets  herself  out  to  onst  like  them  mules  or  any 
jackass  ez  I  've  heerd  of,  but  kinder  holds  herself  in,  and, 
so  to  speak,  takes  her  bearings  —  sorter  feels  round  gently 
with  that  off  foot,  takes  her  distance  and  he.r  rest,  and  then 
with  that  ar  foot  hoverin'  round  in  the  air  softly,  like  an 
angel's  wing,  and  a  gentle,  dreamy  kind  o'  look  in  them 
eyes,  she  lites  out !  Don't  ye,  Jinny  ?  Thar !  jist  ez  I 
told  ye,"  continued  Dan,  with  an  artist's  noble  forgetful- 
ness  of  self,  as  he  slowly  crawled  from  the  splintered  ruin 
of  the  barrel  on  which  he  had  been  sitting.  "  Thar  !  did 
ye  ever  see  the  like  ?  Did  ye  dream  that  all  the  while  I 
was  talkin'  she  was  a-meditatin'  that  ?  " 


"  JINNY  "  353 

The  same  artistic  perception  and  noble  reticence  distin- 
guished her  bray.  It  was  one  of  which  a  less  sagacious 
animal  would  have  been  foolishly  vain  or  ostentatiously 
prodigal.  It  was  a  contralto  of  great  compass  and  pro- 
fundity —  reaching  from  a  low  G  to  high  C  —  perhaps  a 
trifle  stronger  in  the  lower  register,  and  not  altogether  free 
from  a  nasal  falsetto  in  the  upper.  Daring  and  brilliant  as 
it  was  in  the  middle  notes,  it  was  perhaps  more  musically 
remarkable  for  its  great  sustaining  power.  The  element  of 
surprise  always  entered  into  the  hearer's  enjoyment ;  long 
after  any  ordinary  strain  of  human  origin  would  have 
ceased,  faint  echoes  of  Jinny's  last  note  were  perpetually 
recurring.  But  it  was  as  an  intellectual  and  moral  expres- 
sion that  her  bray  was  perfect.  As  far  beyond  her  size  as 
were  her  aspirations,  it  was  a  free  and  running  commentary 
of  scorn  at  all  created  things  extant,  with  ironical  and  sar- 
donic additions  that  were  terrible.  It  reviled  all  human 
endeavor,  it  quenched  all  sentiments,  it  suspended  frivolity, 
it  scattered  reverie,  it  paralyzed  action.  It  was  omnipotent. 
More  wonderful  and  characteristic  than  all,  the  very  exist- 
ence of  this  tremendous  organ  was  unknown  to  the  camp 
for  six  months  after  the  arrival  of  its  modest  owner,  and 
only  revealed  to  them  tinder  circumstances  that  seemed  to 
point  more  conclusively  than  ever  to  her  rare  discretion. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  warm  night  and  the  middle  of 
a  heated  political  discussion.  Sawyer's  Bar  had  gathered 
in  force  at  the  Crossing,  and  by  the  light  of  flaring  pine 
torches,  cheered  and  applauded  the  rival  speakers  who  from 
a  rude  platform  addressed  the  excited  multitude.  Partisan 
spirit  at  that  time  ran  high  in  the  foothills  ;  crimination 
and  recrimination,  challenge,  reply,  accusation,  and  retort  had 
already  inflamed  the  meeting,  and  Colonel  Bungstarter,  after 
a  withering  review  of  his  opponent's  policy,  culminated 
with  a  personal  attack  upon  the  career  and  private  char- 
acter of  the  eloquent  and  chivalrous  Colonel  Culpeppei 


354  "  JINNY  " 

Starbottle  of  Siskiyou.  That  eloquent  and  chivalrous  gen- 
tleman was  known  to  be  present ;  it  was  rumored  that  the 
attack  was  expected  to  provoke  a  challenge  from  Colonel 
Starbottle  which  would  give  Bungstarter  the  choice  of 
weapons,  and  deprive  Starbottle  of  his  advantage  as  a  dead- 
shot.  It  was  whispered  also  that  the  sagacious  Starbottle, 
aware  of  this  fact,  would  retaliate  in  kind  so  outrageously 
as  to  leave  Bungstarter  no  recourse  but  to  demand  satisfac- 
tion on  the  spot.  As  Colonel  Stai'bottle  rose,  the  eager 
crowd  drew  together,  elbowing  each  other  in  rapt  and 
ecstatic  expectancy.  "  He  can't  get  even  on  Bungstarter, 
onless  he  allows  his  sister  ran  off  with  a  nigger,  or  that  he 
put  up  his  grandmother  at  draw-poker  and  lost  her,"  whis- 
pered the  Quartz  Crusher  ;  "  kin  he  ?  "  All  ears  were 
alert,  particularly  the  very  long  and  hairy  ones  just  rising 
above  the  railing  of  the  speaker's  platform ;  for  Jinny,  hav- 
ing a  feminine  distrust  of  solitude  and  a  fondness  for  show, 
had  followed  her  master  to  the  meeting,  and  had  insinuated 
herself  upon  the  platform,  where  way  was  made  for  her 
with  that  frontier  courtesy  always  extended  to  her  age  and 
sex. 

Colonel  Starbottle,  stertorous  and  purple,  advanced  to 
the  railing:  There  he  unbuttoned  his  collar  and  laid  his 
neckcloth  aside ;  then  with  his  eye  fixed  on  his  antagonist 
he  drew  off  his  blue  frock-coat,  and  thrusting  one  hand  into 
his  ruffled  shirt-front,  and  raising  the  other  to  the  dark  can- 
opy above  him,  he  opened  his  vindictive  lips.  The  action, 
the  attitude,  were  Starbottle's.  But  the  voice  was  not. 
For  at  that  supreme  moment,  a  bray — so  profound,  so  ap- 
palling, so  utterly  soul-subduing,  so  paralyzing  that  every- 
thing else  sank  to  mere  insignificance  beside  it  —  filled 
woods  and  sky  and  air.  For  a  moment  only  the  multitude 
gasped  in  speechless  astonishment,  —  it  was  a  moment  only, 
—  and  then  the  welkin  roared  with  their  shouts.  In  vain 
silence  was  commanded,  in  vain  Colonel  Starbottle,  with  a 


"  JINNY  "  355 

ghastly  smile,  remarked  that  .he  recognized  in  the  interrup 
tion  the  voice  and  intellect  of  the  opposition  ;  the  laugh 
continued,  the  more  as  it  was  discovered  that  Jinny  had 
not  yet  finished,  and  was  still  recurring  to  her  original 
theme.  "  Gentlemen,"  gasped  Starbottle,  "  any  attempt  by 
[Hee-haw!  from  Jinny]  brutal  buffoonery  to  restrict  the 
right  of  free  speech  to  all  [a  prolonged  assent  from  Jinny] 
is  worthy  only  the  dastardly  "  —  but  here  a  diminuendo  so 
long  drawn  as  to  appear  a  striking  imitation  of  the  Colonel's 
own  apoplectic  sentences  drowned  his  voice  with  shrieks  of 
laughter. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  during  this  performance  a 
vigorous  attempt  was  not  made  to  oust  Jinny  from  the 
platform.  But  all  in  vain.  Equally  demoralizing  in  either 
extremity,  Jinny  speedily  cleared  a  circle  with  her  flying 
hoofs,  smashed  the  speaker's  table  and  water  pitcher,  sent 
the  railing  flying  in  fragments  over  the  cheering  crowd,  and 
only  succumbed  to  two  blankets,  in  which,  with  her  head 
concealed,  she  was  finally  dragged,  half  captive,  half  victor, 
from  the  field.  Even  then  a  muffled  and  supplemental 
bray  that  came  from  the  woods  at  intervals  drew  half  the 
crowd  away  and  reduced  the  other  half  to  mere  perfunc- 
tory hearers.  The  demoralized  meeting  was  adjourned ; 
Colonel  Starbottle's  withering  reply  remained  unuttered, 
and  the  Bungstarter  party  were  triumphant. 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  Jinny  was  the  heroine  of  the 
hour,  but  no  cajolery  nor  flattery  could  induce  her  to  again 
exhibit  her  powers.  In  vain  did  Dean  of  Angel's  extem- 
porize a  short  harangue  in  the  hope  that  Jinny  would  be 
tempted  to  reply ;  in  vain  was  every  provocation  offered 
that  might  sting  her  sensitive  nature  to  eloquent  revolt. 
She  replied  only  with  her  heels.  Whether  or  not  this  was 
simple  caprice,  or  whether  she  was  satisfied  with  her  maiden 
effort,  or  indignant  at  her  subsequent  treatment,  she  re- 
mained silent,  "  She  made  her  little  game,"  said  Dan, 


856  "  JINNY  " 

who  was  a  political  adherent  of  Starbottle's,  and  who  yet 
from  that  day  enjoyed  the  great  speaker's  undying  hatred ; 
"  and  even  if  me  and  her  don't  agree  on  politics  —  you  let 
her  alone."  Alas,  it  would  have  been  well  for  Dan  if  he 
could  have  been  true  to  his  instincts,  but  the  offer  of  one 
hundred  dollars  from  the  Bungstarter  party  proved  too 
tempting.  She  passed  irrevocably  from  his  hands  into 
those  of  the  enemy.  But  any  reader  of  these  lines  will,  I 
trust,  rejoice  to  hear  that  this  attempt  to  restrain  free 
political  expression  in  the  foothills  failed  signally.  For, 
although  she  was  again  covertly  introduced  on  the  platform 
by  the  Bungstarters,  and  placed  face  to  face  with  Colonel 
Starbottle  at  Murphy's  Camp,  she  was  dumb.  Even  a 
brass  band  failed  to  excite  her  emulation.  Either  she  had 
become  disgusted  with  politics,  or  the  higher  prices  paid  by 
the  party  to  other  and  less  effective  speakers  aroused  her 
jealousy  arid  shocked  her  self-esteem,  but  she  remained  a 
passive  spectator.  When  the  Hon.  Sylvester  Rouvback, 
who  received,  for  the  use  of  his  political  faculties  for  a 
single  night,  double  the  sum  for  which  she  was  purchased 
outright,  appeared  on  the  same  platform  with  herself,  she 
forsook  it  hurriedly  and  took  to  the  woods.  Here  she 
might  have  starved  but  for  the  intervention -of  one  M'Carty, 
a  poor  market-gardener,  who  found  her,  and  gave  her  food 
and  shelter  under  the  implied  contract  that  she  should 
forsake  politics  and  go  to  work.  The  latter  she  for  a  long 
time  resisted,  but  as  she  was  considered  large  enough  by 
this  time  to  dr,aw  a  cart,  M'Carty  broke  her  to  single 
harness,  with  a  severe  fracture  of  his  leg  and  the  loss  of 
four  teeth  and  a  small  spring  wagon.  At  length,  when  she 
could  be  trusted  to  carry  his  wares  to  Murphy's  Camp,  and 
could  be  checked  from  entering  a  shop  with  the  cart  at- 
tached to  her  —  a  fact  of  which  she  always  affected  perfect 
disbelief — her  education  was  considered  as  complete  as 
that  of  the  average  Californian  donkey.  It  was  still  unsafe 


"JINNY"  357 

to  leave  her  alone,  as  she  disliked  solitude,  and  always 
made  it  a  point  to  join  any  group  of  loungers  with  her  un- 
necessary cart,  and  even  to  follow  some  good-looking  miner 
to  his  cabin.  The  first  time  this  peculiarity  was  discovered 
by  her  owner  was  on  his  return  to  the  street  after  driving 
a  bargain  within  the  walls  of  the  Temperance  Hotel.  Jinny 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Her  devious  course,  however, 
was  pleasingly  indicated  by  vegetables  that  strewed  the 
road  until  she  was  at  last  tracked  to  the  veranda  of  the 
Arcade  saloon,  where  she  was  found  looking  through  the 
window  at  a  game  of  euchre,  and  only  deterred  by  the 
impeding  cart  from  entering  the  building.  A  visit  one 
Sunday  to  the  little  Catholic  chapel  at  French  Camp,  where 
she  attempted  to  introduce  an  antiphonai  service  and  the 
cart,  brought  shame  and  disgrace  upon  her  unlucky  master. 
For  the  cart  contained  freshly  gathered  vegetables,  and  the 
fact  that  M'Carty  had  been  Sabbath-breaking  was  painfully 
evident.  Father  Sullivan  was  quick  to  turn  an  incident 
that  provoked  only  the  risibilities  of  his  audience  into  a 
moral  lesson.  "  It  's  the  poor  dumb  beast  that  has  a 
more  Christian  sowl.  than  Michael,"  he  commented  ;  but 
here  Jinny  assented  so  positively  that  they  were  fain  to 
drag  her  away  by  main  force. 

To  her  eccentric  and  thoughtless  youth  succeeded  a  calm, 
maturity,  in  which  her  conservative  sagacity  was  steadily 
developed.  She  now  worked  for  her  living,  subject,  how- 
ever, to  a  nice  discrimination  by  which  she  limited  herself 
to  a  certain  amount  of  work,  beyond  which  neither  threats, 
beatings,  nor  cajoleries  would  force  her.  At  certain  hours 
she  Avould  start  for  the  stable  with  or  without  the  in- 
cumbrances  of  the  cart  or  Michael,  turning  two  long  and  deaf 
ears  on  all  expostulation  or  entreaty.  "  Now,  God  be  good  to 
me,"  said  Michael,  one  day,  picking  himself  out  from  a  ditch 
as  he  gazed  sorrowfully  after  the  flying  heels  of  Jinny,  "  but 
it 's  only  the  second  load  of  cabbages  I  'm  bringin'  the  day, 


358  "  JINNY  " 

and  if  she 's  shtruck  now,  it 's  ruined  I  am  entoirely."  But 
he  was  mistaken ;  after  two  hours  of  rumination  Jinny 
returned  of  her  own  free  will,  having  evidently  mistaken  the 
time,  and  it  is  said  even  consented  to  draw  an  extra  load  to 
make  up  the  deficiency.  It  may  be  imagined  from  this  and 
other  circumstances  that  Michael  stood  a  little  in  awe  of 
Jinny's  superior  intellect,  and  that  Jinny  occasionally,  with 
the  instinct  of  her  sex,  presumed  upon  it.  After  the 
Sunday  episode,  already  referred  to,  she  was  given  her 
liberty  on  that  day,  a  privilege  she  gracefully  recognized  by 
somewhat  unbending  her  usual  austerity  in  the  indulgence 
of  a  saturnine  humor.  She  would  visit  the  mining  camps, 
and,  grazing  lazily  and  thoughtfully  before  the  cabins, 
would,  by  various  artifices  and  coquetries  known  to  the 
female  heart,  induce  some  credulous  stranger  to  approach 
her  with  the  intention  of  taking  a  ride.  She  would  submit 
hesitatingly  to  a  halter,  allow  him  to  mount  her  back,  and, 
with  every  expression  of  timid  and  fearful  reluctance,  at 
last  permit  him  to  guide  her  in  a  laborious  trot  out  of  sight 
of  human  habitation.  What  happened  then  was  never 
clearly  known.  In  a  few  moments  the  camp  would  be 
aroused  by  shouts  and  execrations,  and  the  spectacle  of 
Jinny  tearing  by  at  a  frightful  pace,  with  the  stranger 
clinging  with  his  arms  around  her  neck,  afraid  to  slip  off, 
from  terror  of  her  circumvolving  heels,  and  vainly  implor- 
ing assistance.  Again  and  again  she  would  dash  by  the 
applauding  groups,  adding  the  aggravation  of  her  voice  to 
the  danger  of  her  heels,  until,  stiddenly  wheeling,  she  would 
gallop  to  Carter's  Pond  and  deposit  her  luckless  freight  in  the 
muddy  ditch.  This  practical  joke  was  repeated  until  one 
Sunday  she  was  approached  by  Juan  Ramirez,  a  Mexican 
vaquero,  booted  and  spurred,  and  carrying  a  riata.  A 
crowd  was  assembled  to  see  her  discomfiture.  But,  to  the 
intense  disappointment  of  the  camp,  Jinny,  after  quietly 
surveying  the  stranger,  uttered  a  sardonic  bray,  and  ambled 


THE   GENTLE   LADY   AND   HEK   FOUR-FOOTED   FRIEND 


"  JINNY  "  359 

away  to  the  little  cemetery  on  the  hill,,  whose  tangled 
chaparral  effectually  prevented  all  pursuit  by  her  skilled 
antagonist.  From  that  day  she  forsook  the  camp,  and 
spent  her  Sabbaths  in  mortuary  reflection  among  the  pine 
head-boards  and  cold  "hicjacets"  of  the  dead. 

Happy  would  it  have  been  if  this  circumstance,  which 
resulted  in  the  one  poetic  episode  of  her  life,  had  occurred 
earlier;  for  the  cemetery  was  the  favorite  resort  of  Miss 
Jessie  Lawton,  a  gentle  invalid  from  San  Francisco,  who 
had  sought  the  foothills  for  the  balsam  of  pine  and  fir,  and 
in  the  faint  hope  that  the  freshness  of  the  wind  roses  might 
call  back  her  own.  The  extended  views  from  the  cemetery 
satisfied  Miss  Lawton's  artistic  taste,  and  here  frequently, 
with  her  sketch-book  in  hand,  she  indulged  that  taste  and 
a  certain  shy  reserve  which  kept  her  from  contact  with 
strangers.  On  one  of  the  leaves  of  that  sketch-book  appears 
a  study  of  a  donkey's  head,  being  none  other  than  the  grave 
features  of  Jinny,  as  once  projected  timidly  over  the  artist's 
shoulder.  The  preliminaries  of  this  intimacy  have  never 
transpired,  nor  is  it  a  settled  fact  if  Jinny  made  the  first 
advances.  The  result  was  only  known  .to  the  men  of 
Sawyer's  Bar  by  a  vision  which  remained  fresh  in  their 
memories  long  after  the  gentle  lady  and  her  four-footed 
friend  had  passed  beyond  their  voices.  As  two  of  the 
tunnel-men  were  returning  from  work  one  evening,  they 
chanced  to  look  up  the  little  trail,  kept  sacred  from  secular 
intrusion,  that  led  from  the  cemetery  to  the  settlement.  In 
the  dim  twilight,  against  a  sunset  sky,  they  beheld  a  pale- 
faced  girl  riding  slowly  toward  them.  With  a  delicate 
instinct,  new  to  these  rough  men,  they  drew  closer  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bushes  until  she  passed.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  familiar  grotesqueness  of  Jinny  ;  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  languid  grace  of  Miss  Lawton.  But  a  wreath 
of  wild  roses  was  around  Jinny's  neck,  from  her  long  ears 
floated  Miss  Jessie's  hat  ribbons,  and  a  mischievous,  girlish 


360  "  JINNY  " 

smile  was  upon  Miss  Jessie's  face,  as  fresh  as  the  azaleas  in 
her  hair.  By  the  next  day  the  story  of  this  gentle  apparition 
was  known  to  a  dozen  miners  in  camp,  and  all  were  sworn  to 
secrecy.  But  the  next  evening,  and  the  next,  from  the  safe 
shadows  of  the  woods  they  watched  and  drank  in  the  beauty 
of  that  fanciful  and  all  unconscious  procession.  They  kept 
their  secret,  and  never  a  whisper  or  footfall  from  these  rough 
men  broke  its  charm  or  betrayed  their  presence.  The  man 
who  could  have  shocked  the  sensitive  reserve  of  the  young 
girl  would  have  paivl  for  it  with  his  life. 

And  then  one  day  the  character  of  the  procession  changed, 
and  this  little  incident  having  been  told,  it  was  permitted 
that  Jinny  should  follow  her  friend,  caparisoned  even  as  be- 
fore, but  this  time  by  the  rougher  but  no  less  loving  hands  of 
men.  When  the  cortege  reached  the  ferry  where  the  dead 
girl  was  to  begin  her  silent  journey  to  the  sea,  Jinny  broke 
from  those  who  held  her,  and  after  a  frantic  effort  to  mount 
the  barge  fell  into  the  swiftly  rushing  Stanislaus.  A  dozen 
stout  arms  were  stretched  to  save  her,  and  a  rope,  skillfully 
thrown,  was  caught  around  her  feet.  For  an  instant  she  was 
passive,  and,  as.  it  seemed,  saved.  But  the  next  moment 
her  dominant  instinct  returned,  and  with  one  stroke  of  her 
powerful  heel  she  snapped  the  rope  in  twain  and  so  drifted 
with  her  mistress  to  the  sea. 


TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS 

IT  never  was  clearly  ascertained  how  long  they  had  been 
there.  The  first  settler  of  Kough-and-Keady  —  one  Low, 
playfully  known  to  his  familiars  as  "  The  Poor  Indian  "  — 
declared  that  the  Saints  were  afore  his  time,  and  occupied 
a  cabin  in  the  brush  when  he  "  blazed  "  his  way  to  the 
North  Fork.  It  is  certain  that  the  two  were  present  when 
the  water  was  first  turned  on  the  Union  Ditch,  and  then 
and  there  received  the  designation  of  Daddy  Downey  and 
Mammy  Downey,  which  they  kept  to  the  last.  As  they 
tottered  toward  the  refreshment  tent,  they  were  welcomed 
with  the  greatest  enthusiasm  by  the  boys ;  or,  to  borrow 
the  more  refined  language  of  the  "Union  Kecorder," 
"Their  gray  hairs  and  bent  figures,  recalling  as  they  did 
the  happy  paternal  eastern  homes  of  the  spectators,  and  the 
blessings  that  fell  from  venerable  lips  when  they  left  those 
homes  to  journey  in  quest  of  the  Golden  Fleece  on  Occi- 
dental Slopes,  caused  many  to  burst  into  tears."  The 
nearer  facts,  that  many  of  these  spectators  were  orphans, 
that  a  few  were  unable  to  establish  any  legal  parentage 
whatever,  that  others  had  enjoyed  a  State's  guardianship 
and  discipline,  and  that  a  majority  had  left  their  parental 
roofs  without  any  embarrassing  preliminary  formula,  were 
mere  passing  clouds  that  did  not  dim  the  golden  imagery 
of  the  writer.  From  that  day  the  Saints  were  adopted  aa 
historical  lay  figures,  and  entered  at  once  into  possession  of 
uninterrupted  gratuities  and  endowment. 

It  was  not  strange  that,  in  a  country  largely  made  up  of 


362  TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS 

ambitious  and  reckless  youth,  these  two  —  types  of  conser- 
vative and  settled  forms —  should  be  thus  celebrated.  Apart 
from  any  sentiment  of  veneration,  they  were  admirable  foils 
to  the  community's  youthful  progress  and  energy.  They 
were  put  forward  at  every  social  gathering,  occupied  promi- 
nent seats  on  the  platform  at  every  public  meeting,  walked 
first  in  every  procession,  were  conspicuous  at  the  frequent 
funeral  and  rarer  wedding,  and  were  godfather  and  god- 
mother to  the  first  baby  born  in  Rough-and-Beady.  At  the 
first  poll  opened  in  that  precinct,  Daddy  Downey  cast  the 
first  vote,  and,  as  was  his  custom  on  all  momentous  occa- 
sions, became  volubly  reminiscent.  "  The  first  vote  I  ever 
cast,"  said  Daddy,  "  was  for  Andrew  Jackson  —  the  father 
o'  some  on  you  peart  young  chaps  was  n't  born  then  ;  he  ! 
he  !  —  that  was  'way  long  in  '33,  was  n't  it  ?  I  disremem- 
ber  now,  but  if  Mammy  was  here,  she  bein'  a  school-gal  at 
the  time,  she  could  say.  But  my  memory 's  failin'  me. 
I  'm  an  old  man,  boys ;  yet  I  likes  to  see  the  young  ones 
go  ahead.  I  recklect  that  thar  vote  from  a  suckumstance. 
Squire  Adams  was  present,  and  seein'  it  was  my  first  vote, 
he  put  a  goold  piece  into  my  hand,  and,  sez  he,  sez  Squire 
Adams,  '  Let  that  always  be  a  reminder  of  the  exercise  of 
a  glorious  freeman's  privilege  ! '  He  did  ;  he  !  he  !  Lord, 
boys  !  I  feel  so  proud  of  ye,  that  I  wish  I  had  a  hundred 
votes  to  cast  for  ye  all." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  memorial  tribute  of 
Squire  Adams  was  increased  tenfold  by  the  judges,  inspec- 
tors, and  clerks,  and  that  the  old  man  tottered  back  to 
Mammy  considerably  heavier  than  he  came.  As  both  of 
the  rival  candidates  were  equally  sure  of  his  vote,  and  each 
had  called  upon  him  and  offered  a  conveyance,  it  is  but  fair 
to  presume  they  were  equally  beneficent.  But  Daddy 
insisted  upon  walking  to  the  polls,  —  a  distance  of  two 
miles,  —  as  a  moral  example,  and  a  text  for  the  California!) 


TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS  3QI 

paragraphers,  who  hastened  to  record  that  such  was  the 
influence  of  the  foot-hill  climate,  that  "  a  citizen  of  Eough- 
and-Ready,  aged  eighty-four,  rose  at  six  o'clock,  and,  after 
milking  two  cows,  walked  a  distance  of  twelve  miles  to  the 
polls,  and  returned  in  time  to  chop  a  cord  of  wood  before 
dinner."  Slightly  exaggerated  as  this  statement  may  have 
been,  the  fact  that  Daddy  was  always  found  by  the  visitot 
to  be  engaged  at  his  wood-pile,  which  seemed  neither  tc 
increase  nor  diminish  under  his  axe,  a  fact,  doubtless, 
owing  to  the  activity  of  Mammy,  who  was  always  at  the 
same  time  making  pies,  seemed  to  give  some  credence  to 
the  story.  Indeed,  the  wood-pile  of  Daddy  Downey  was 
a  standing  reproof  to  the  indolent  and  sluggish  miner. 

"  Ole  Daddy  must  use  up  a  pow'ful  sight  of  wood  ;  every 
time  I  've  passed  by  his  shanty  he  's  been  makin'  the  chips 
fly.  But  what  gets  me  is,  that  the  pile  don't  seem  to  come 
down,"  said  Whiskey  Dick  to  his  neighbor. 

"Well,  you  derned  fool!"  growled  his  neighbor,  " spose 
gome  chap  happens  to  pass  by  thar,  and  sees  the  ole  man 
doin'  a  man's  work  at  eighty,  and  slouches  like  you  and  me 
lying  round  drunk,  and  that  chap,  feelin'  kinder  humped, 
goes  up  some  dark  night  and  heaves  a  load  of  cut  pine  over 
his  fence,  who  's  got  anything  to  say  about  it  ?  —  say  ?  " 

Certainly  not  the  speaker,  who  had  done  the  act  suggested, 
nor  the  penitent  and  remorseful  hearer,  who  repeated  it 
next  day. 

The  pies  and  cakes  made  by  the  old  woman  were,  I  think, 
remarkable  rather  for  their  inducing  the  same  loyal  and 
generous  spirit  than  for  their  intrinsic  excellence,  and,  it  may 
be  said,  appealed  more  strongly  to  the  nobler  aspirations  of 
humanity  than  its  vulgar  appetite.  Howbeit,  everybody 
ate  Mammy  Downey's  pies,  and  thought  of  his  childhood. 
"  Take  'em,  dear  boys,"  the  old  lady  would  say  ;  "  it  does 
me  good  to  see  you  eat  'em ;  reminds  me  kinder  of  my  poor 


364  TWO    SAINTS    OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS 

Sammy,  that  ef  he  'd  lived,  would  hev  been  ez  strong  and  big 
ez  you  be,  but  was  taken  down  with  lung  fever  at  Sweet- 
water.  I  kin  see  him  yet ;  that 's  forty  years  ago,  dear ! 
comin'  out  o'  the  lot  to  the  bakehouse,  and  smilin'  such  a 
beautiful  smile,  like  yours,  dear  boy,  as  I  handed  him  a 
minco  or  a  lemming  turnover.  Dear,  dear,  how  I  do  run  on  ! 
and  those  days  is  past !  but  I  seems  to  live  in  you  again !  " 
The  wife  of  the  hotel-keeper,  actuated  by  a  low  jealousy, 
had  suggested  that  she  "  seemed  to  live  off  them  ;  "  but  as 
that  person  tried  to  demonstrate  the  truth  of  her  statement 
by  reference  to  the  cost  of  the  raw  material  used  by  the  old 
lady,  it  was  considered  by  tin;  camp  as  too  practical  and 
economical  for  consideration.  "  Besides,"  added  Cy  Perkins, 
"  ef  old  Mammy  wants  to  turn  an  honest  penny  in  her  old 
age,  let  her  do  it.  How  would  you  like'  your  old  mother 
to  make  pies  on  grub  wages,  eh  ?  "  —  a  suggestion  that  so 
affected  his  hearer  (who  had  no  mother)  that  he  bought 
three  on  the  spot.  The  quality  of  these  pies  had  never  been 
discussed  but  once.  It  is  related  that  a  young  lawyer  from 
San  Francisco,  dining  at  the  Palmetto  restaurant,  pushed 
away  one  of  Mammy  Downey's  pies  with  every  expression 
of  disgust  and  dissatisfaction.  At  this  juncture,  Whiskey 
Dick,  considerably  affected  by  his  favorite  stimulant,  ap- 
proached the  stranger's  table,  and,  drawing  up  a  chair,  sat 
uninvited  before  him.  ' 

"  Mebbee,  young  man,"  he  began  gravely,  "  ye  don't  like 
Mammy  Downey's  pies  ?  " 

The  stranger  replied  curtly,  and  in  some  astonishment, 
that  he  did  not,  as  a  rule,  "  eat  pie." 

"  Young  man,"  continued  Dick  with  drunken  gravity, 
"mebbee  you  're  accustomed  to  Charlotte  rusks  and  blue 
mange  ;  mebbee  ye  can't  eat  unless  your  grub  is  got  up  by 
one  o'  them  French  cooks  ?  Yet  we  —  us  boys  yar  in  this 
samp  — calls  that  pie,  — a  good  — com-pe-tent  pie  !  " 


TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS  £Q5 

The  stranger  again  disclaimed  anything  but  a  general 
dislike  of  that  form  of  pastry. 

"  Young  man,"  continued  Dick,  utterly  unheeding  the 
explanation,  —  "  young  man,  mebbee  you  onc't  had  an  ole, 
a  very  ole  mother,  who,  tottering  down  the  vale  o'  years, 
made  pies.  Mebbee  —  and  it 's  like  your  blank  epicurean 
soul  —  ye  turned  up  your  nose  on  the  ole  woman,  and  went 
back  on  the  pies,  and  on  her  !  She  that  dandled  ye  when 
ye  woz  a  baby,  —  a  little  baby  !  Mebbee  ye  went  back  on 
her,  and  shook  her,  and  played  off  on  her,  and  gave  her 
away — dead  away!  And  now,  mebbee,  young  man, — I 
would  n't  hurt  ye  for  the  world,  —  but  mebbee,  afore  ye 
leave  this  yar  table,  YE  'LL  EAT  THAT  PIE  !  " 

The  stranger  rose  to  his  feet,  but  the  muzzle  of  a  dragoon 
revolver  in  the  unsteady  hands  of  Whiskey  Dick  caused  him 
to  sit  down  again.  He  ate  the  pie,  and  lost  his  case  like- 
wise before  a  Kough-and- Ready  jury. 

Indeed,  far  from  exhibiting  the  cynical  doubts  and  dis- 
trusts of  age,  Daddy  Downey  received  always  with  child- 
like delight  the  progress  of  modern  improvement  and 
energy.  "  In  my  day,  long  back  in  the  twenties,  it  took  us 
nigh  a  week  —  a  week,  boys  —  to  get  up  a  barn,  and  all 
the  young  ones  —  I  was  one  then  —  for  miles  round  at  the 
raisin' ;  and  yer  's  you  boys  —  rascals  ye  are,  too  —  runs 
up  this  yer  shanty  for  Mammy  and  me  'twixt  sun-up  and 
dark !  Eh,  eh,  you  're  teachin'  the  old  folks  new  tricks, 
are  ye  ?  Ah,  get  along,  you  !  "  and  in  playful  simulation 
of  anger  he  would  shake  his  white  hair  and  his  hickory 
staff  at  the  "  rascals."  The  only  indication  of  the  conserva- 
tive tendencies  of  age  was  visible  in  his  continual  protest 
against  the  extravagance  of  the  boys.  "  Why,"  he  would 
say,  "a  family,  a  hull  family,  — leavin'  alone  me  and  the 
old  woman,  —  might  be  supported  on  what  you  young  ras- 
cals throw  away  in  a  single  spree.  Ah,  you  young  dogs, 
didn't  I  hear  about  your  scattering  half-dollars  on  the 


866  TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS 

stage  the  other  night  when  that  Eyetalian  Papist  was 
singin'.  And  that  money  goes  out  of  Ameriky  —  ivry 
cent ! " 

There  was  little  doubt  that  the  old  couple  were  sav- 
ing, if  not  avaricious.  But  when  it  was  known,  through 
the  indiscreet  volubility  of  Mammy  Downey,  that  Daddy 
Downey  sent  the  bulk  of  their  savings,  gratuities,  and  gifts, 
to  a  dissipated  and  prodigal  son  in  the  East,  —  whose 
photograph  the  old  man  always  carried  with  him,  —  it 
rather  elevated  him  in  their  regard.  "  When  ye  write  to 
that  gay  and  festive  son  o'  your'n,  Daddy,"  said  Joe  Bobin- 
son,  "  send  him  this  yer  specimen.  Give  him  my  compli- 
ments, and  tell  him,  ef  he  kin  spend  money  faster  than  J 
can,  I  call  him  !  Tell  him,  ef  he  wants  a  first-class  jam 
boree,  to  kem  out  here,  and  me  and  the  boys  will  show  him 
what  a  square  drunk  is!"  In  vain  would  the  old  man 
continue  to  protest  against  the  spirit  of  the  gift ;  the  miner 
generally  returned  with  his  pockets  that  much  the  lighter, 
and  it  is  not  improbable  a  little  less  intoxicated  than  he 
otherwise  might  have  been.  It  may  be  premised  that 
Daddy  Downey  was  strictly  temperate.  The  only  way  he 
managed  to  avoid  hurting  the  feelings  of  the  camp  was  by 
accepting  the  frequent  donations  of  whiskey  to  be  used  for 
the  purposes  of  liniment. 

"  Next  to  snake-oil,  my  son,"  he  would  say,  "  and 
dilberry-juice,  —  and  ye  don't  seem  to  pro-duce 'em  here 
abouts,  —  whiskey  is  good  for  rubbin'  onto  old  bones  tc 
make  'em  limber.  But  pure  cold  water,  '  sparklin'  arid 
bright  in  its  liquid  light,'  and,  so  to  speak,  reflectiri'  of 
God's  own  linyments  on  its  surfiss,  is  the  best,  on  less,  like 
^oor  ol'  Mammy  and  me,  ye  gets  the  dumb-agur  from  over- 
use." 

The  fame  of  the  Downey  couple  was  not  confined  to  the 
*)ot-bills.  The  Eev.  Henry  Gushington,  D.  D.,  of  Boston, 
making  a  bronchial  tour  of  California,  wrote  to  the  "  Chris- 


TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS  367 

tian  Pathfinder  "  an  affecting  account  of  his  visit  to  them, 
placed  Daddy  Downey's  age  at  102,  and  attributed  the 
recent  conversions  in  R,ough-and-Ready  to  their  influence. 
That  gifted  literary  Hessian,  Bill  Smith,  "traveling  in  the 
interests  of  various  capitalists,  and  the  trustworthy  corre- 
spondent of  four  "  only  independent  American  journals," 
quoted  him  as  an  evidence  of  the  longevity  superinduced 
by  the  climate,  offered  him  as  an  example  of  the  security 
of  helpless  life  and  property  in  the  mountains,  used  him  as 
an  advertisement  of  the  Union  Ditch,  and  it  is  said,  in 
some  vague  way,  cited  him  as  proving  the  collateral  facts  of 
a  timber  and  ore  producing  region  existing  in  the  foot-hills 
worthy  the  attention  of  Eastern  capitalists. 

Praised  thus  by  the  lips  of  distinguished  report,  fostered 
by  the  care  and  sustained  by  the  pecuniary  offerings  of 
their  fellow-citizens,  the  Saints  led  for  two  years  a  peaceful 
life  of  gentle  absorption.  To  relieve  them  from  the  embar- 
rassing appearance  of  eleemosynary  receipts, — an  embarrass- 
ment felt  more  by  the  givers  than  the  recipients,  —  the 
postmastership  of  Rough-and-Ready  was  procured  for  Daddy, 
and  the  duty  of  receiving  and  delivering  the  United  States 
mails  performed  by  him,  with  the  advice  and  assistance  of 
the  boys.  If  a  few  letters  went  astray  at  this  time,  it  was 
easily  attributed  to  this  undisciplined  aid,  and  the  boys 
themselves  were  always  ready  to  make  up  the  value  of  a 
missing  money-letter  and  "keep  the  old  man's  accounts 
square."  To  these  functions  presently  were  added  the  trea- 
surerships  of  the  Masons'  and  Odd  Fellows'  charitable 
funds,  —  the  old  man  being  far  advanced  in  their  respec- 
tive degrees,  —  and  even  the  po  ition  of  almoner  of  their 
bounties  was  superadded.  Here,  unfortunately,  Daddy's 
habits  of  economy  and  avaricious  propensity  came  near  mak- 
ing him  unpopular,  and  very  often  needy  brothers  were 
forced  to  object  to  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  help 
extended.  They  always  met  with  more  generous  relief 


368  TWO   SAINTS    OF    THE    FOOT-HILLS 

from  the  private  hands  of  the  brothers  themselves,  and  the 
remark  that  "  the  ol'  man  was  trying  to  set  an  example,  — 
that  he  meant  well,"  —  and  that  they  would  yet  be  thank- 
ful for  his  zealous  care  and  economy.  A  few,  I  think, 
suffered  in  noble  silence,  rather  than  bring  the  old  man's 
infirmity  to  the  public  notice. 

And  so  with  this  honor  of  Daddy  and  Mammy,  the  days 
of  the  miners  were  long  and  profitable  in  the  land  of  the 
foot-hills.  The  mines  yielded  their  abundance,  the  winters 
were  singularly  open,  and  yet  there  was  no  drouth  nor  lack 
of  water,  and  peace  and  plenty  smiled  on  the  Sierran  foot- 
hills, from  their  highest  sunny  upland  to  the  trailing  falda 
of  wild  oats  and  poppies.  If  a  certain  superstition  got 
abroad  among  the  other  camps,  connecting  the  fortunes  of 
Rough-and-Ready  with  Daddy  and  Mammy,  it  was  a  gentle, 
harmless  fancy,  and  was  not,  I  think,  altogether  rejected 
by  the  old  people.  A  certain  large,  patriarchal,  bountiful 
manner,  of  late  visible  in  Daddy,  and  the  increase  of  much 
white  hair  and  beard,  kept  up  the  poetic  allusion,  while 
Mammy,  day  by  day,  grew  more  and  more  like  somebody's 
fairy  godmother.  An  attempt  was  made  by  a  rival  camp 
to  emulate  these  paying  virtues  of  reverence,  and  an  aged 
mariner  was  procured  from  the  Sailor's  Snug  Harbor  in 
San  Francisco  on  trial.  But  the  unfortunate  seaman  was 
more  or  less  diseased,  was  not  always  presentable,  through 
a  weakness  for  ardent  spirits,  and  finally,  to  use  the  power- 
ful idiom  of  one  of  his  disappointed  foster-children,  "  up 
and  died  in  a  week,  without  slinging  ary  blessin'." 

But  vicissitude  reaches  young  and  old  alike.  Youthful 
Rough-and-Ready  and  the  Saints  had  climbed  to  their 
meridian  together,  and  it  seemed  fit  that  they  should  to- 
gether decline.  The  first  shadow  fell  with  the  immigration 
to  Rough-and-Ready  of  a  second  aged  pair.  The  land- 
lady of  the  Independence  Hotel  had  not  abated  her  male- 
volence towards  the  Saints,  and  had  imported  at  consider 


TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS  369 

able  expense  her  grand-aunt  and  grand-uncle,  who  had 
been  enjoying  for  some  years  a  sequestered  retirement  in 
the  poorhouse  at  East  Machias.  They  were  indeed  very 
old.  By  what  miracle,  even  as  anatomical  specimens,  they 
had  been  preserved  during  their  long  journey,  was  a  mys- 
tery to  the  camp.  In  some  respects  they  had  superior 
memories  and  reminiscences.  The  old  man  —  Abner  Trix 
—  had  shouldered  a  musket  in  the  war  of  1812 ;  his  wife, 
Abigail,  had  seen  Lady  Washington.  She  could  sing 
hymns ;  he  knew  every  text  between  "  the  leds "  of  a 
Bible.  There  is  little  doubt  but  that  in  many  respects,  to 
the  superficial  and  giddy  crowd  of  youthful  spectators,  they 
were  the  more  interesting  spectacle. 

Whether  it  was  jealousy,  distrust,  or  timidity  that  over- 
came the  Saints,  was  never  known,  but  they  studiously 
declined  to  meet  the  strangers.  When  directly  approached 
upon  the  subject,  Daddy  Downey  pleaded  illness,  kept  him- 
self in  close  seclusion,  and  the  Sunday  that  the  Trixes 
attended  church  in  the  schoolhouse  on  the  hill,  the  triumph 
of  the  Trix  party  was  mitigated  by  the  fact  that  the 
Downeys  were  not  in  their  accustomed  pew.  "  You  bet 
that  Daddy  and  Mammy  is  lying  low  jest  to  ketch  them 
old  mummies  yet,"-  explained  a  Downey ite.  For  by  this 
time  schism  and  division  had  crept  into  the  camp ;  the 
younger  and  later  members  of  the  settlement  adhering  to 
the  Trixes,  while  the  older  pioneers  stood  not  only  loyal 
to  their  own  favorites,  but  even,  in  the  true  spirit  of  par- 
tisanship, began  to  seek  for  a  principle  underlying  their 
personal  feelings.  "  I  tell  ye  what,  boys,"  observed  Sweet- 
water  Joe,  "  if  this  yer  camp  is  goin'  to  be  run  by  green- 
horns, and  old  pioneers,  like  Daddy  and  the  rest  of  us, 
must  take  back  seats,  it 's  time  we  emigrated  and  shoved 
out,  and  tuk  Daddy  with  us.  Why,  they  're  talkin'  of  rota- 
tion in  offiss,  and  of  putting  that  skeleton  that  Ma'am 
Decker  sets  up  at  the  table  to  take  her  boarders'  appetites 


370  TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS 

away,  into  the  post-office  in  place  o'  Daddy."  And,  indeed, 
there  were  some  fears  of  such  a  conclusion ;  the  newer  men 
of  Rough-and-Ready  were -in  the  majority,  and  wielded  a 
more  than  equal  influence  of  wealth  and  outside  enterprise. 
"  Frisco,"  as  a  Downeyite  bitterly  remarked,  "  already 
owned  half  the  town."  The  old  friends  that  rallied  around 
Daddy  and  Mammy  were,  like  most  loyal  friends  in  adver- 
sity, in  bad  case  themselves,  and  were  beginning  to  look 
and  act,  it  was  observed,  not  unlike  their  old  favorites. 

At  this  juncture  Mammy  died. 

The  sudden  blow  for  a  few  days  seemed  to  reunite  dis- 
severed Eough-and-Ready.  Both  factions  hastened  to  the 
bereaved  Daddy  with  condolements,  and  offers  of  aid  and 
assistance.  But  the  old  man  received  them  sternly.  A 
change  had  come  over  the  weak  and  yielding  octogenarian. 
Those  who  expected  to  find  him  maudlin,  helpless,  disconso- 
late, shrank  from  the  cold,  hard  eyes  and  truculent  voice 
that  bade  them  "  begone,"  and  "  leave  him  with  his  dead." 
Even  his  own  friends  failed  to  make  him  respond  to  their 
sympathy,  and  were  fain  to  content  themselves  with  his  cold 
intimation  that  both  the  wishes  of  his  dead  wife  and  his 
own  instincts  were  against  any  display,  or  the  reception 
of  any  favor  from  the  camp  that  might  tend  to  keep  up 
the  divisions  they  had  innocently  created.  The  refusal  of 
Daddy  to  accept  any  service  offered  was  so  unlike  him  as 
to  have  but  one  dreadful  meaning  !  The  sudden  shock 
had  turned  his  brain  !  Yet  so  impressed  were  they  with  his 
resolution  that  they  permitted  him  to  perform  the  last  sad 
offices  himself,  and  only  a  select  few  of  his  nearer  neighbors 
assisted  him  in  carrying  the  plain  deal  coffin  from  his  lonely 
cabin  in  the  woods  to  the  still  lonelier  cemetery  on  the  hill- 
top. When  the  shallow  grave  was  filled,  he  dismissed  even 
these  curtly,  shut  himself  up  in  his  cabin,  and  for  days  re- 
mained unseen.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  no  longer  in 
his  right  mind. 


TWO   SAIXTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS  371 

His  harmless  aberration  was  accepted  and  treated  with 
a  degree  of  intelligent  delicacy  hardly  to  be  believed  of  so 
rough  a  community.  During  his  wife's  sudden  and  severe 
illness,  the  safe  containing  the  funds  intrusted  to  his  care 
by  the  various  benevolent  associations  was  broken  into  and 
robbed,  and  although  the  act  was  clearly  attributable  to  his 
carelessness  and  preoccupation,  all  allusion  to  the  fact  was 
withheld  from  him  in  his  severe  affliction.  When  he 
appeared  again  before  the  camp,  and  the  circumstances 
were  considerately  explained  to  him,  with  the  remark  that 
"  the  boys  had  made  it  all  right,"  the  vacant,  hopeless, 
unintelligent  eye  that  he  turned  upon  the  speaker  showed 
too  plainly  that  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  "  Don't 
trouble  the  old  man,"  said  Whiskey  Dick,  with  a  burst  of 
honest  poetry.  "  Don't  ye  see  his  memory  's  dead,  and 
lying  there  in  the  coffin  with  Mammy  ? "  Perhaps  the 
speaker  was  nearer  right  than  he  imagined. 

Failing  in  religious  consolation,  they  took  various  means 
of  diverting  his  mind  with  worldly  amusements,  and  one 
was  a  visit  to  a  traveling  variety  troupe,  then  performing 
in  the  town.  The  result  of  the  visit  was  briefly  told  by 
Whiskey  Dick.  "  Well,  sir,  we  went  in,  and  I  sot  the  old 
man  down  in  a  front  seat,  and  kinder  propped  him  up  with 
some  other  of  the  fellers  round  him,  and  there  he  sot  as 
silent  and  awful  ez  the  grave.  And  then  that  fancy  dancer, 
Miss  Grace  Somerset,  comes  in,  and  dern  my  skin,  ef  the 
old  man  did  n't  get  to  trembling  and  fidgeting  all  over,  as 
she  cut  them  pidgin  wings.  I  tell  ye  what,  boys,  men  is 
men,  way  down  to  their  boots,  —  whether  they  're  crazy  or 
not !  Well,  he  took  on  so,  that  I  'm  blamed  if  at  last  that 
gal  herself  did  n't  notice  him  !  and  she  ups,  suddenly,  and 
blows  him  a  kiss  —  so  !  with  her  fingers  !  " 

Whether  this  narration  were  exaggerated  or  not,  it  is 
certain  that  the  old  man  Downey  every  succeeding  night  of 
the  performance  was  a  spectator.  That  he  may  have  aspired 


372  TWO    SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS 

to  more  than  that  was  suggested  a  day  or  two  later  in  the 
following  incident :  A  number  of  the  bo}rs  were  sitting 
around  the  stove  in  the  Magnolia  saloon,  listening  to  the 
onset  of  a  winter  storm  against  the  windows,  when  Whiskey 
Dick,  tremulous,  excited,  and  bristling  with  rain-drops  and 
information,  broke  in  upon  them. 

"Well,  boys,  I  've  got  just  the  biggest  thing  out.  Ef  I 
had  n't  seed  it  myself,  I  would  n't  hev  believed  it !  " 

"  It  ara't  thet  ghost  ag'in  ?  "  growled  Eobinson,  from 
the  depths  of  his  arm-chair  ;  "  thet  ghost.'s  about  played." 

"  Wot  ghost  ?  "  asked  a  new-comer. 

"  Why,  ole  Mammy's  ghost,  that  every  feller  about  yer 
sees  when  he  's  half  full  and  out  late  o'  nights." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  Why,  where  should  a  ghost  be  ?  Mean- 
derin'  round  her  grave  on  the  hill,  yander,  in  course." 

"  It 's  suthin  bigger  nor  thet,  pard,"  said  Dick  confi- 
dently ;  "  no  ghost  kin  rake  down  the  pot  ag'in  the  keerds 
I  've  got  here.  This  ain't  no  bluff!  " 

"  Well,  go  on  !  "  said  a  dozen  excited  voices. 

Dick  paused  a  moment  diffidently,  with  the  hesitation  of 
an  artistic  raconteur. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  affected  deliberation,  "  let 's  see  ! 
It 's  nigh  onto  an  hour  ago  ez  I  was  down  thar  at  the  vari- 
ety show.  When  the  curtain  was  down  betwixt  the  ax,  I 
looks  round  fer  Daddy.  No  Daddy  thar  !  I  goes  out  and 
asks  some  o'  the  boys.  '  Daddy  was  there  a  minnit  ago,' 
they  say  ;  '  must  hev  gone  home.'  Bein'  kinder  responsible 
for  the  old  man,  I  hangs  around,  and  goes  out  in  the  hall 
and  sees  a  passage  leadin'  behind  the  scenes.  Now  the 
queer  thing  about  this,  boys,  ez  that  suthin  in  my  bones 
tells  me  the  old  man  is  thar.  I  pushes  in,  and,  sure  as  a 
gun,  I  hear  his  voice.  Kinder  pathetic,  kinder  pleadin', 
kinder  "  — 

"  Love-makin'  !  "  broke  in  the  impatient  Eobinson. 


TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS  373 

"  You  've  hit  it,  pard,  —  you  've  rung  the  bell  every  time  ! 

But  she  says,  '  I  want  thet  money  down,  or  I'll ' and  here 

I  could  n't  get  to  hear  the  rest.  And  then  he  kinder  coaxes, 
and  she  says,  sorter  sassy,  but  listenin'  all  the  time,  —  woman 
like,  ye  know,  Eve  and  the  sarpint  ! — and  she  says,  'I'll 
see  to-morrow.'  And  he  says,  '  You  won't  blow  on  me  ?  ' 
and  I  gets  excited  and  peeps  in,  and  may  I  be  teetotally 
durned  ef  I  didn't  see  "  — 

"  What  ?  "  yelled  the  crowd. 

"  Why,  Daddy  on  his  knees  to  that  there  fancy  dancer, 
Grace  Somerset !  Now,  if  Mammy's  Ghost  is  meanderin' 
round,  why,  et  's  about  time  she  left  the  cemetery  and  put 
in  an  appearance  in  Jackson's  Hall.  Thet 's  all  !  " 

"  Look  yar,  boys,"  said  Robinson,  rising,  "  I  don't  know 
ez  it 's  the  sqxiare  thing  to  spile  Daddy's  fun.  I  don't  object 
to  it,  provided  she  ain't  takin'  in  the  old  man,  and  givin' 
him  dead  away.  But  ez  we  're  his  guardeens,  I  propose  that 
we  go  down  thar  and  see  the  lady,  and  find  out  ef  her  inten- 
tions is  honorable.  If  she  means  marry,  and  the  old  man 
persists,  why,  I  reckon  we  kin  give  the  young  couple  a  send- 
off  thet  won't  disgrace  this  yer  camp  !  Hey,  boys  ?  " 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  proposition  was  received 
with  acclamation,  and  that  the  crowd  at  once  departed  on 
their  discreet  mission.  But  the  result  was  never  known,  for 
the  next  morning  brought  a  shock  to  Rough-and-Ready 
before  which  all  other  interests  paled  to  nothingness. 

The  grave  of  Mammy  Downey  was  found  violated  and 
despoiled ;  the  coffin  opened,  and  half  filled  with  the  papers 
and  accounts  of  the  robbed  benevolent  associations ;  but 
the  body  of  Mammy  was  gone  !  Nor,  on  examination,  did 
it  appear  that  the  sacred  and  ancient  form  of  that  female 
had  ever  reposed  in  its  recesses  ! 

Daddy  Downey  was  not  to  be  found,  nor  is  it  necessary 
to  say  that  the  ingenuous  Grace  Somerset  was  also  missing. 

For  three  days  the  reason  of  Rough-and-Ready  trembled 


874  TWO   SAINTS   OF   THE   FOOT-HILLS 

• 

in  the  balance.  No  work  was  done  in  the  ditches,  in  the 
flume,  nor  in  the  mills.  Groups  of  men  stood  by  the  grave 
of  the  lamented  relict  of  Daddy  Downey,  as  open-mouthed 
and  vacant  as  that  sepulchre.  Never  since  the  great  earth- 
quake of  '52  had  Kough-and-Ready  been  so  stirred  to  its 
deepest  foundations. 

On  the  third  day  the  sheriff  of  Calaveras  —  a  qniet, 
gentle,  thoughtful  man  —  arrived  in  town,  and  passed  from 
one  to  the  other  of  excited  groups,  dropping  here  and  there 
detached  but  concise  and  practical  information. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  you  are  right ;  Mrs.  Downey  is  not 
dead,  because  there  was  n't  any  Mrs.  Downey  !  Her  part 
was  played  by  George  F.  Fen  wick,  of  Sydney,  — a  '  ticket- 
of-leave-man,'  who  was,  they  say,  a  good  actor.  Downey  ? 
Oh  yes  !  Downey  was  Jem  Flanigan,  who,  in  '52,  used  to 
run  the  variety  troupe  in  Australia,  where  Miss  Somerset 
made  her  debut.  Stand  back  a  little,  boys.  Steady  !  The 
money  ?  Oh  yes,  they've  got  away  with  that,  sure!  How 
are  ye,  Joe  ?  Why,  you  're  looking  well  and  hearty  !  I 
rather  expected  ye  court  week.  How  's  things  your  way  ?  " 

"Then  they  were  only  play-actors,  Joe  Hall  ?"  broke  in 
a  dozen  voices. 

"  I  reckon  ! "  returned  the  sheriff  coolly. 

"  And  for  a  matter  o'  five  blank  years,"  said  Whiskey 
Dick  sadly,  "  they  played  this  camp !  " 


"WHO   WAS   MY   QUIET   FKIEND?" 

" STRANGER ! " 

The  voice  was  not  loud,  but  clear  and  penetrating.  1 
looked  vainly  up  and  down  the  narrow,  darkening  trail. 
No  one  in  the  fringe  of  alder  ahead ;  no  one  on  the  gullied 
slope  behind. 

"  Oh,  stranger  !  " 

This  time  a  little  impatiently.  The  Californian  classical 
vocative,  "  Oh,"  always  meant  business. 

I  looked  up,  and  perceived  for  the  first  time  on  the  ledge, 
thirty  feet  above  me,  another  trail  parallel  with  my  own, 
and  looking  down  upon  me  through  the  buckeye  bushes  a 
small  man  on  a  black  horse. 

Five  things  to  be  here  noted  by  the  circumspect  moun- 
taineer. First,  the  locality,  —  lonely  and  inaccessible,  and 
away  from  the  regular  faring  of  teamsters  and  miners. 
Secondly,  the  stranger's  superior  knowledge  of  the  road, 
from  the  fact  that  the  other  trail  was  unknown  to  the  or- 
dinary traveler.  Thirdly,  that  he  was  well  armed  and 
equipped.  Fourthly,  that  he  was  better  mounted.  Fifthly, 
that  any  distrust  or  timidity  arising  from  the  contemplation 
of  these  facts  had  better  be  kept  to  one's  self. 

All  this  passed  rapidly  through  my  mind  as  I  returned 
his  salutation. 

"  Got  any  tobacco  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  had,  and  signified  the  fact,  holding  up  the  pouch  in- 
quiringly. 

"  All  right,  I'll  come  down.  Hide  on,  and  I  '11  jine  ye 
on  the  ci;de." 


876  "WHO    WAS   MY   QUIET   FRIEND?" 

"  The  slide  !  "  Here  was  a  new  geographical  discovery 
as  odd  as  the  second  trail.  I  had  ridden  over  the  trail  a 
dozen  times,  and  seen  no  communication  between  the  ledge 
and  trail.  Nevertheless,  I  went  on  a  hundred  yards  or  so, 
when  there  was  a  sharp  crackling  in  the  underbrush,  a 
shower  of  stones  on  the  trail,  and  my  friend  plunged  through 
the  bushes  to  my  side,  down  a  grade  that  I  should  scarcely 
have  dared  to  lead  my  horse.  There  was  no  doubt  he  was 
an  accomplished  rider,  —  another  fact  to  be  noted.  As  he 
ranged  beside  me,  I  found  I  was  not  mistaken  as  to  his 
size  ;  he  was  quite  under  the  medium  height,  and  but  for 
a  pair  of  cold,  gray  eyes,  was  rather  commonplace  in  feature. 

"  You  've  got  a  good  horse  there,"  I  suggested. 

He  was  rilling  his  pipe  from  my  pouch,  but  looked  up  a 
little  surprised,  and  said,  "Of  course."  He  then  puffed 
away  with  the  nervous  eagerness  of  a  man  long  deprived  of 
that  sedative.  Finally,  between  the  puffs,  he  asked  me 
whence  I  came. 

I  replied,  "  From  Lagrange." 

He  looked  at  me  a  few  moments  curiously,  but  on  my 
adding  that  I  had  only  halted  there  for  a  few  hours,  he 
said  :  "  I  thought  I  knew  every  man  between  Lagrange  and 
Indian  Spring,  but  somehow  I  sorter  disremember  your  face 
and  your  name." 

Not  particularly  caring  that  he  should  remember  either, 
I  replied  half  laughingly  that,  as  I  lived  the  other  side  of 
Indian  Spring,  it  was  quite  natural.  He  took  the  rebuff,  if 
such  it  was,  so  quietly  that  as  an  act  of  mere  perfunctory 
politeness  I  asked  him  where  he  came  from. 

"  Lagrange." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  "  — 

"  Well !  that  depends  pretty  much  on  how  things  pan 
out,  and  whether  I  can  make  the  riffle."  He  let  his  hand 
rest  quite  unconsciously  on  the  leathern  holster  of  his  dra- 
goon revolver,  yet  with  a  strong  suggestion  to  me  of  his 


"WHO   WAS   MY   QUIET   FRIEND?"  377 

ability  "  to  make  the  riffle  "  if  he  wanted  to,  and  added  ; 
"  But  just  now  I  was  reck'nin'  on  taking  a  little  pasear 
with  you." 

There  was  nothing  offensive  in  his  speech  save  its  fami- 
liarity, and  the  reflection,  perhaps,  that  whether  I  objected 
or  not,  he  was  quite  able  to  do  as  he  said.  I  only  replied 
that  if  our  pasear  was  prolonged  beyond  Heavytree  Hill,  I 
should  have  to  borrow  his  beast.  To  my  surprise  he  replied 
quietly,  "  That 's  so,"  adding  that  the  horse  was  at  my  dis- 
posal when  he  was  n't  using  it,  and  half  of  it  when  he  was. 
"  Dick  has  carried  double  many  a  time  before  this,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  kin  do  it  again  ;  when  your  mustang  gives 
out  I  '11  give  you  a  lift  and  room  to  spare." 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  idea  of  appearing  before 
the  boys  at  Red  Gulch  en  croupe  with  the  stranger ;  but 
neither  could  I  help  being  oddly  affected  by  the  suggestion 
that  his  horse  had  done  double  duty  before.  "  On  what 
occasion,  and  why  ?  "  was  a  question  I  kept  to  myself. 
We  were  ascending  the  long,  rocky  flank  of  the  divide  ;  the 
narrowness  of  the  trail  obliged  us  to  proceed  slowly,  and  in 
file,  so  that  there  was  little  chance  for  conversation,  had  he 
been  disposed  to  satisfy  my  curiosity. 

We  toiled  on  in  silence,  the  buckeye  giving  way  to  chemi- 
sal,  the  westering  sun,  reflected  again  from  the  blank  Avails 
beside  us,  blinding  our  eyes  with  its  glare.  The  pines  in 
the  canon  below  were  olive  gulfs  of  heat,  over  which  a  hawk 
here  and  there  drifted  lazily,  or,  rising  to  our  level,  cast  a 
weird  and  gigantic  shadow  of  slowly  moving  wings  on  the 
mountain  side.  The  superiority  of  the  stranger's  horse  led 
him  often  far  in  advance,  and  made  me  hope  that  he  might 
forget  me  entirely,  or  push  on,  growing  weary  of  waiting. 
But  regularly  he  would  halt  by  a  boulder,  or  reappear  from 
some  chemisal,  where  he  had  patiently  halted.  I  was  begin- 
ning to  hate  him  mildly,  when  at  one  of  those  reappearances 
he  drew  up  to  my  side,  and  asked  me  how  I  liked  Dickens  r 


578  "  WHO   WAS   MY    QUIET   FRIEND  ?  " 

Had  he  asked  my  opinion  of  Huxley  or  Darwin,  I  could 
not  have  been  more  astonished.  Thinking  it  were  possible 
that  he  referred  to  some  local  celebrity  of  Lagrange,  I  said, 
hesitatingly  :  "  You  mean  "  — 

"Charles  Dickens.  Of  course  you  've  read  him?  Which 
of  his  books  do  you  like  best  ?  " 

I  replied  with  considerable  embarrassment  that  I  liked 
them  all,  —  as  I  certainly  did. 

He  grasped  my  hand  for  a  moment  with  a  fervor  quite 
unlike  his  usual  phlegm  and  said,  "  That  's  me,  old  man. 
Dickens  ain't  no  slouch.  You  can  count  on  him  pretty 
much  all  the  time." 

With  this  rough  preface,  he  launched  into  a  criticism  of 
the  novelist,  which  for  intelligent  sympathy  and  hearty 
appreciation  I  had  rarely  heard  equaled.  Not  only  did  he 
dwell  upon  the  exuberance  of  his  humour,  but  upon  the 
power  of  his  pathos  and  the  all-pervading  element  of  his 
poetry.  I  looked  at  the  man  in  astonishment.  I  had  con- 
sidered myself  a  rather  diligent  student  of  the  great  master 
of  fiction,  but  the  stranger's  felicity  of  quotation  and  illus- 
tration staggered  me.  It  is  true,  that  his  thought  was  not 
always  clothed  in  the  best  language,  and  often  appeared  in 
the  slouching,  slangy  undress  of  the  place  and  period,  yet 
it  never  was  rustic  nor  homespun,  and  sometimes  struck 
me  with  its  precision  and  fitness.  Considerably  softened 
toward  him,  I  tried  him  with  other  literature.  But  vainly. 
Beyond  a  few  of  the  lyrical  and  emotional  poets,  he  knew 
nothing.  Under  the  influence  and  enthusiasm  of  his  own 
speech,  he  himself  had  softened  considerably  ;  offered  to 
change  horses  with  me,  readjusted  my  saddle  with  profes- 
sional skill,  transferred  my  pack  to  his  own  horse,  insisted' 
upon  my  sharing  the  contents  of  his  whiskey  flask,  and 
noticing  that  I  was  unarmed,  pressed  upon  me  a  silver- 
mounted  Derringer,  which  he  assured  me  he  could  "  warrant." 
These  various  offices  of  good  will  and  the  diversion  of  his 


"WHO   WAS   MY   QUIET  FRIEND?"  379 

talk  beguiled  me  from  noticing  the  fact  that  the  trail  was 
beginning  to  become  obscure  and  unrecognizable.  We  were 
evidently  pursuing  a  route  unknown  before  to  me.  I 
pointed  out  the  fact  to  my  companion,  a  little  impatiently. 
He  instantly  resumed  his  old  manner  and  dialect. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  one  trail 's  as  good  as  another,  and 
what  hev  ye  got  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

.  I  pointed  out,  with  some  dignity,  that  I  preferred  the  old 
trail. 

"  Mebbe  you  did.  But  you  're  jiss  now  takin'  a  pasear 
with  me.  This  yer  trail  will  bring  you  right  into  Indian 
Spring,  and  onnoticed,  and  no  questions  asked.  Don't  you 
mind  now,  I  '11  see  you  through." 

It  was  necessary  here  to  make  some  stand  against  my 
strange  companion.  I  said  firmly,  yet  as  politely  as  I 
could,  that  I  had  proposed  stopping  overnight  with  a 
friend. 

"  Whar  ?  " 

I '  hesitated.  The  friend  was  an  eccentric  Eastern  man, 
well  known  in  the  locality  for  his  fastidiousness  and  his 
habits  as  a  recluse.  A  misanthrope,  of  ample  family  and 
ample  means,  he  had  chosen  a  secluded  but  picturesque 
valley  in  the  Sierras  where  he  could  rail  against  the  world 
without  opposition.  "  Lone  Valley,"  or  "  Boston  Ranch," 
as  it  was  familiarly  called,  was  the  one  spot  that  the  average 
miner  both  respected  and  feared.  Mr.  Sylvester,  its  pro- 
prietor, had  never  affiliated  with  "  the  boys,"  nor  had  he 
ever  lost  their  respect  by  any  active  opposition  to  their  ideas. 
If  seclusion  had  been  his  object,  he  certainly  was  gratified. 
Nevertheless,  in  the  darkening  shadows  of  the  night,  and 
on  a  lonely  and  unknown  trail,  I  hesitated  a  little  at  re- 
peating his  name  to  a  stranger  of  whom  I  knew  so  little. 
But  my  mysterious  companion  took  the  matter  out  of  my 
hands. 

"  Look  yar,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  thar  ain't  but  one  place 


380  "  WHO   WAS   MY   QUIET   FRIEND  ?  " 

'twixt  yer  and  Indian  Spring  whar  ye  can  stop,  and  that  is 
Sylvester's." 

I  assented,  a  little  sullenly. 

"Well,"  said  the  stranger  quietly,  and  with  a  slight 
suggestion  of  conferring  a  favor  on  me,  "  ef  yer  pointed 
for  Sylvester's  —  why  —  /  don't  mind  stopping  thar  with 
ye.  It 's  a  little  off  the  road,  —  I  '11  lose  some  time,  —  hut 
taking  it  by  and  large,  I  don't  much  mind." 

I  stated,  as  rapidly  and  as  strongly  as  I  could,  that  my 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Sylvester  did  not  justify  the  intro- 
duction of  a  stranger  to  his  hospitality  ;  that  he  was  unlike 
most  of  the  people  here ;  in  short,  that  he  was  a  queer 
man,  etc.,  etc. 

To  my  surprise  my  companion  answered  quietly  :  "  Oh, 
that's  all  right.  I've  heerd  of  him.  Ef  you  don't  feel  like 
checking  me  through,  or  if  you  'd  rather  put  '  C.  0.  D.  '  on 
my  hack,  why,  it 's  all  the  same  to  me.  I  '11  play  it  alone. 
Only  you  just  count  me  in.  Say  '  Sylvester  '  all  the  time. 
That 's  me  !  " 

What  could  I  oppose  to  this  man's  quiet  assurance  ?  I 
felt  myself  growing  red  with  anger  and  nervous  with  embar- 
rassment. What  would  the  correct  Sylvester  say  to  me  ? 
What  would  the  girls,  —  I  was  a  young  man  then,  and  had 
won  an  entree  to  their  domestic  circle  by  my  reserve, 
known  by  a  less  complimentary  adjective  among  "  the 
boys,"  —  what  would  they  say  to  my  new  acquaintance  ? 
Yet  I  certainly  could  not  object  to  his  assuming  all  risks  on 
his  own  personal  recognizances,  nor  could  I  resist  a  certain 
feeling  of  shame  at  my  embarrassment. 

We  were  beginning  to  descend.  In  the  distance  below 
us  already  twinkled  the  lights  in  the  solitary  rancho  of 
Lone  Valley.  I  turned  to  my  companion.  "  But  you 
have  forgotten  that  I  don't  even  know  your  name.  What 
am  I  to  call  you  ?  " 

"  That 's  so,"    he   said,   musingly.       "  Now,   let 's    see, 


"WHO   WAS   MY   QUIET   FRIEND?"  381 

'Kearney'  would  be  a  good  name.  It's  short  and  easj 
like.  Thar 's  a  street  in  'Frisco  the  same  title ;  Kearuej 
it  is." 

"  But  "  —  I  began  impatiently. 

'•  Now  you  leave  all  that  to  me,"  he  interrupted,  with  a 
superb  self-confidence  that  I  could  not  but  admire.  "  The 
name  ain't  no  account.  It 's  the  man  that 's  responsible. 
Ef  I  was  to  lay  for  a  man  that  I  reckoned  was  named 
Jones,  and  after  I  fetched  him  I  found  out  on  the  inquest 
that  his  real  name  was  Smith,  that  would  n't  make  no 
matter,  as  long  as  I  got  the  man." 

The  illustration,  forcible  as  it  was,  did  not  strike  me  as 
offering  a  prepossessing  introduction,  but  we  were  already 
at  the  rancho.  The  barking  of  dogs  brought  Sylvester  to 
the  door  of  the  pretty  little  cottage  which  his  taste  had 
adorned. 

I  briefly  introduced  Mr.  Kearney.  "  Kearney  will  do  — 
Kearney  's  good  enough  for  me,"  commented  the  soi-disant 
Kearney  half-aloiul,  to  my  own  horror  and  Sylvester's  evi- 
dent mystification,  and  then  he  blandly  excused  himself 
for  a  moment  that  he  might  personally  supervise  the  care 
of  his  own  beast.  When  he  was  out  of  ear-shot  I  drew  the 
puzzled  Sylvester  aside. 

"  I  have  picked  up  —  I  mean  I  have  been  picked  up  on 
the  road  by  a  gentle  maniac,  whose  name  is  not  Kearney. 
He  is  well  armed  and  quotes  Dickens.  AVith  care,  acquies- 
cence in  his  views  on  all  subjects,  and  general  submission 
to  his  commands,  he  may  be  placated.  Doubtless  the  spec- 
tacle of  your  helpless  family,  the  contemplation  of  your 
daughter's  beauty  and  innocence,  may  touch  his  fine  sense 
of  humor  and  pathos.  Meanwhile,  Heaven  help  you,  and 
forgive  me." 

I  ran  up  stairs  to  the  little  den  that  my  hospitable  host 
had  kept  always  reserved  for  me  in  my  wanderings.  I 
lingered  some  time  over  my  ablutions,  hearing  the  languid. 


gentlemanly  drawl  of  Sylvester  below,  mingled  with  the 
equally  cool,  easy  slang  of  my  mysterious  acquaintance. 
When  I  .came  down  to  the  sitting-room  I  was  surprised, 
however,  to  find  the  self-styled  Kearney  quietly  seated  on 
the  sofa,  the  gentle  May  S3rlvester,  the  "  Lily  of  Lone 
Valley,"  sitting  with  maidenly  awe  and  unaffected  interest 
on  one  side  of  him,  while  on  the  other  that  arrant  flirt,  her 
cousin  Kate,  was  practicing  the  pitiless  archery  of  her  eyes, 
with  an  excitement  that  seemed  almost  real. 

"  Who  is  your  deliciously  cool  friend  ?  "  she  managed 
to  whisper  to  me  at  supper,  as  I  sat  utterly  dazed  and  be- 
wildered between  the  "enrapt  May  Sylvester,  who  seemed 
to  hang  upon  his  words,  and  this  giddy  girl  of  the  period, 
who  was  emptying  the  battery  of  her  charms  in  active 
rivalry  upon  him.  "  Of  course  we  know  his  name  is  n't 
Kearney.  But  how  romantic !  And  is  n't  he  perfectly 
lovely  ?  And  who  is  he  ?  " 

I  replied  with  severe  irony  that  I  was  not  aware  what 
foreign  potentate  was  then  traveling  incognito  in  the  Sierras 
of  California,  but  that,  when  his  royal  highness  was  pleased 
to  inform  me,  I  should  be  glad  to  introduce  him  properly. 
"  Until  then,"  I  added,  "  I  fear  the  acquaintance  must  be 
Morganatic." 

"  You  're  only  jealous  of  him,"  she  said  pertly.  "  Look 
at  May,  —  she  is  completely  fascinated.  And  her  father, 
too." 

And  actually  the  languid,  world-sick,  cynical  Sylvester 
was  regarding  him  with  a  boyish  interest  and  enthusiasm 
almost  incompatible  with  his  nature.  Yet  I  submit  hon- 
estly to  the  clear-headed  reason  of  my  own  sex,  that  I 
could  see  nothing  more  in  the  man  than  I  have  already 
delivered  to  the  reader. 

In  the  middle  of  an  exciting  story  of  adventure,  of  which 
he,  to  the  already  prejudiced  mind  of  his  fair  auditors,  was 
evidently  the  hero,  he  stopped  suddenly. 


"  WHO   WAS   MY   QUIET   FKIEND  ?  ';  383 

"It's  only  some  pack  train  passing  the  bridge  on  the 
lower  trail,"  explained  Sylvester  ;  "  go  on." 

"  It  may  be  my  horse  is  a  trifle  oneasy  in  the  stable," 
said  the  alleged  Kearney;  "he  ain't  used  to  boards  and 
covering."  Heaven  only  knows  what  wild  and  delicious 
revelation  lay  in  the  statement  of  this  fact,  but  the  girls 
looked  at  each  other  with  cheeks  pink  with  excitement  as 
Kearney  arose,  and  with  quiet  absence  of  ceremony  quitted 
the  table. 

"  Ain't  he  just  lovely  ?  "  said  Kate,  gasping  for  breath, 
"  and  so  witty  !  " 

"  Witty  ! "  said  the  gentle  May,  with  just  the  slight- 
est trace  of  defiance  in  her  sweet  voice  ;  •'  witty,  my  dear  ? 
why,  don't  you  see  that  his  heart  is  just  breaking  with 
pathos  ?  Witty,  indeed ;  why,  when  he  was  speaking  of 
that  poor  Mexican  woman  that  was  hung,  I  saw  the  tears 
gather  in  his  eyes.  Witty,  indeed !  " 

"  Tears,"  laughed  the  cynical  Sylvester,  "  tears,  idle  tears. 
Why,  you  silly  children,  the  man  is  a  man  of  the  world,  a 
philosopher,  quiet,  observant,  unassuming." 

"  Unassuming  !  "  Was  Sylvester  intoxicated,  or  had  the 
mysterious  stranger  mixed  the  "  insane  verb "  with  the 
family  pottage?  He  returned  before  I  could  answer  this 
self-asked  inquiry,  and  resumed  coolly  his  broken  narrative. 
Finding  myself  forgotten  in  the  man  I  had  so  long  hesitated 
to  introduce  to  my  friends,  I  retired  to  rest  early,  only  to 
hear,  through  the  thin  par'Jtions,  two  hours  later,  enthusi- 
astic praises  of  the  new  guest  from  the  voluble  lips  of  the 
girls,  as  they  chatted  in  the  next  room  before  retiring. 

At  midnight  I  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs 
and  the  jingling  of  spurs  below.  A  conversation  between 
my  host  and  some  mysterious  personage  in  the  darkness 
was  carried  on  in  such  a  low  tone  that  I  could  not  learn  its 
import.  As  the  cavalcade  rode  away  I  raised  the  window, 

"  WThat  's  the  matter  ?  " 


384  "  WHO   WAS   MY    QUIET   FRIEND  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Sylvester  coolly  ;  "  only  another  one  of 
those  playful  homicidal  freaks  peculiar  to  the  country.  A 
man  was  shot  by  Cherokee  Jack  over  at  Lagrange  this 
morning,  and  that  was  the  sheriff  of  Calaveras  and  his 
posse  hunting  him.  I  told  him  I  'd  seen  nobody  but  you 
and  your  friend.  By  the  way,  I  hope  the  cursed  noise 
hasn't  disturbed  him.  The  poor  fellow  looked  as  if  he 
wanted  rest." 

I  thought  so  too.  Nevertheless,  I  went  softly  to  his 
room.  It  was  empty.  My  impression  was  that  he  had 
dist«»c«d  the  sheriff  of  Calaveras  about  two  hours. 


"A  TOUKIST   FEOM  INJIANNY" 

WE  first  saw  him  from  the  deck  of  the  Unser  Fritz,  as 
that  gallant  steamer  was  preparing  to  leave  the  port  of 
Xew  York  for  Plymouth,  Havre,  and  Hamburg.  Perhaps 
it  was  that  all  objects  at  that  moment  became  indelibly 
impressed  on  the  memory  of  the  departing  voyager ;  per- 
haps it  was  that  mere  interrupting  trivialities  always  as- 
sume undue  magnitude  to  us  when  we  are  waiting  for 
something  really  important ;  but  I  retain  a  vivid  impres- 
sion of  him  as  he  appeared  on  the  gangway  in  apparently 
hopeless,  yet,  as  it  afterwards  appeared,  really  triumphant, 
altercation  with  the  German-speaking  deck-hands  and  stew- 
ards. He  was  not  an  heroic  figure.  Clad  in  a  worn  linen 
duster,  his  arms  filled  with  bags  and  parcels,  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  hackman  carrying  the  luggage  of  his  fare. 
But  it  was  noticeable  that,  although  he  calmly  persisted 
in  speaking  English  and  ignoring  the  voluble  German  of 
his  antagonists,  he  in  some  rude  fashion  accomplished  his 
object,  without  losing  his  temper  or  increasing  his  tempera- 
ture, while  his  foreign  enemy  was  crimson  with  rage  and 
perspiring  with  heat ;  and  that  presently,  having  violated  a 
dozen  of  the  ship's  regulations,'  he  took  his  place  by  the 
side  of  a  very  pretty  girl,  apparently  his  superior  in  station, 
who  addressed  him  as  "  father."  As  the  great  ship  swung 
out  into  the  stream  he  was  still  a  central  figure  on  our 
deck,  getting  into  everybody's  way,  addressing  all  with 
equal  familiarity,  imperturbable  to  affront  or  snub,  but 
always  doggedly  and  consistently  adhering  to  one  purpose, 
however  trivial  or  inadequate  to  the  means  employed. 


386  "A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  " 

"  You  're  sittin'  on  suthin'  o'  mine,  miss,"  he  began  for  the 
third  or  fourth  time  to  the  elegant  Miss  Montmorris,  who 
was  revisiting  Europe  under  high  social  conditions.  "  Jist 
rise  up  while  I  get  it,  —  't  won't  take  a  minit."  Not  only 
was  that  lady  forced  to  rise,  but  to  make  necessary  the  ris- 
ing and  discomposing  of  the  whole  Montmorris  party  who 
were  congregated  around  her.  The  missing  "  suthin'  "  was 
discovered  to  be  a  very  old  and  battered  newspaper.  "  It 's 
the  Cincinnatty  '  Times,'  "  he  explained,  as  he  quietly  took 
it  up,  oblivious  to  the  indignant  glances  of  the  party.  "It 's 
a  little  squoshed  by  your  sittin'  on  it,  but  it  '11  do  to  re-fer 
to.  It 's  got  a  letter  from  Payris,  showin'  the  prices  o' 
them  thar  hotels  and  rist'rants,  and  I  allowed  to  my  dartei 
we  might  want  it  on  the  other  side.  Thar  's  one  or  two 
French  names  thar  that  rather  gets  me,  —  mebbee  your 
eyes  is  stronger ;  "  but  here  the  entire  Montmorris  party 
rustled  away,  leaving  him  with  the  paper  in  one  hand  — 
the  other  pointing  at  the  paragraph.  JSTot  at  all  discomfited, 
he  glanced  at  the  vacant  bench,  took  possession  of  it  with 
his  hat,  "  duster,"  and  umbrella,  disappeared,  and  presently 
appeared  again  with  his  daughter,  a  lank-looking  young 
man,  and  an  angular  elderly  female,  and  —  so  replaced  the 
Montmorrises. 

When  we  were  fairly  at  sea  he  was  missed.  A  pleasing 
belief  that  he  had  fallen  overboard,  or  had  been  left  behind, 
was  dissipated  by  his  appearance  one  morning,  with  his 
daughter  on  one  arm,  and  the  elderly  female  before  alluded 
to  on  the  other.  The  Unser  Fritz  was  rolling  heavily  at 
the  time,  but  with  his  usual  awkward  pertinacity  he  insisted 
upon  attempting  to  walk  toward  the  best  part  of  the  deck, 
as  he  always  did,  as  if  it  were  a  right  and  a  duty.  A  lurch 
brought  him  and  his  uncertain  freight  in  contact  with  the 
Montmorrises,  there  was  a  moment  of  wild  confusion,  two 
or  three  seats  were  emptied,  and  he  finally  was  led  away  by 
the  steward,  an  obviously  and  obtrusively  sick  man.  But 


"A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  "  387 

when  he  had  disappeared  below  it  was  noticed  that  he  had 
secured  two  excellent  seats  for  his  female  companions. 
Nobody  dared  to  disturb  the  elder,  nobody  cared  to  disturb 
the  younger,  —  who  it  may  be  here  recorded  had  a  certain 
shy  reserve  which  checked  aught  but  the  simplest  civilities 
from  the  male  passengers. 

A  few  days  later  it  was  discovered  that  he  was  not  an 
inmate  of  the  first,  but  of  the  second  cabin  ;  that  the 
elderly  female  was  not  his  wife,  as  popularly  supposed,  but 
the  room-mate  of  his  daughter  in  the  first  cabin.  These 
facts  made  his  various  intrusions  on  the  saloon  deck  the 
more  exasperating  to  the  Moritmorrises,  yet  the  more 
difficult  to  deal  with.  Eventually,  however,  he  had,  as 
usual,  his  own  way ;  no  place  was  sacred,  or  debarred 
his  slouched  hat  and  duster.  They  were  turned  out  of 
the  engine-room  to  reappear  upon  the  bridge,  they  were 
forbidden  the  forecastle  to  rise  a  ghostly  presence  beside 
the  officer  in  his  solemn  supervision  of  the  compass.  They 
would  have  been  lashed  to  the  rigging  on  their  way  to  the 
maintop,  but  for  the  silent  protest  of  his  daughter's  presence 
on  the  deck.  Most  of  his  interrupting  familiar  conversation 
was  addressed  to  the  interdicted  "  man  at  the  wheel." 

Hitherto  I  had  contented  myself  with  the  fascination  of 
his  presence  from  afar,  —  wisely,  perhaps,  deeming  it  dan- 
gerous to  a  true  picturesque  perspective  to  alter  my  dis- 
tance, and  perhaps,  like  the  best  of  us,  I  fear,  preferring 
to  keep  my  own  idea  of  him  than  to  run  the  risk  of  alter- 
ing it  by  a  closer  acquaintance.  But  one  day  when  I  was 
lounging  by  the  stern  rail,  idly  watching  the  dogged  ostenta- 
tion of  the  screw,  that  had  been  steadily  intimating,  after 
the  fashion  of  screws,  that  it  was  the  only  thing  in  the 
ship  with  a  persistent  purpose,  the  ominous  shadow  of  the 
slouched  hat  and  the  trailing  duster  fell  upon  me.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  accept  it  meekly.  Indeed,  my 
theory  of  the  man  made  ine  helpless. 


888  "A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  " 

"  I  did  n't  know  till  yesterday  who  you  be,"  he  began 
deliberately,  "  or  I  should  n't  hev'  been  so  onsocial.  But 
I  've  allers  told  my  darter  that  in  permiskiss  trav'lin'  a  man 
oughter  be  keerful  of  who  he  meets.  I  've  read  some  of 
your  writin's, — read  'em  in  a  paper  in  Injianny,  but  I 
never  reckoned  I  'd  meet  ye.  Things  is  queer,  and  trav'lin' 
brings  all  sorter  people  together.  My  darter  Looeze  sus- 
pected ye  from  the  first,  and  she  worried  over  it,  and  kinder 
put  me  up  to  this." 

The  most  delicate  flattery  could  not  have  done  more. 
To  have  been  in  the  thought  of  this  reserved,  gentle  girl, 
who  scarcely  seemed  to  notice  even  those  who  had  paid  her 
attention,  was  — 

"She  put  me  up  to  it,"  he  continued  calmly,  "though 
she,  herself,  hez  a  kind  o'  pre-judise  again  you  and  your 
writin's,  —  thinkin'  them  sort  o'  low  down,  and  the  folks 
talked  about  not  in  her  style ;  and  ye  know  that 's  woman's 
nater,  and  she  and  Miss  Montmorris  agree  on  that  point. 
But  thar  's  a  few  friends  with  me  round  yer  ez  would  like 
to  see  ye."  He  stepped  aside  and  a  dozen  men  appeared 
in  Indian  file  from  behind  the  round-house,  and,  with  a 
solemnity  known  only  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  nature,  shook 
my. hand  deliberately,  and  then  dispersed  themselves  in 
various  serious  attitudes  against  the  railings.  They  were 
honest,  well-meaning  countrymen  of  mine,  but  I  could  not 
recall  a  single  face. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  ;  the  screw,  however,  osten- 
tatiously went  on.  "  You  see  what  I  told  you,"  it  said. 
"  This  is  all  vapidity  and  trifling.  I  'm  the  only  fellow 
here  with  a  purpose.  Whiz,  whiz,  whiz ;  chug,  chug, 
chug !  " 

I  was  about  to  make  some  remark  of  a  general  nature, 
when  I  was  greatly  relieved  to  observe  my  companion's 
friends  detach  themselves  from  the  railings,  and,  with  a 
slight  bow  and  another  shake  of  the  hand,  severally  retire. 


"A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY "  38" 

apparently  as  much  relieved  as  myself.  My  companion,  who 
had  in  the  mean  time  acted  as  if  he  had  discharged  himself 
of  a  duty,  said,  "  Thar  oilers  must  be  some  one  to  tend  to 
this  kind  o'  thing,  or  thar  's  no  sociableness.  I  took  a 
deppytation  into  the  cap'n's  room  yesterday  to  make  some 
proppysitions,  and  thar  's  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  aboard  ez 
orter  be  spoke  to  afore  next  Sunday,  and  I  reckon  it 's  my 
dooty,  onless,"  he  added  with  deliberate  and  formal  polite- 
ness, "  you  'd  prefer  to  do  it,  —  bein'  so  to  speak  a  public 
man." 

But  the  public  man  hastily  deprecated  any  interference 
with  the  speaker's  functions,  and  to  change  the  conversation 
remarked  that  he  had  heard  that  there  were  a  party  of 
Cook's  tourists  on  board,  and  —  were  not  the  preceding 
gentlemen  of  the  number  ?  But  the  question  caused  the 
speaker  to  lay  aside  his  hat,  take  a  comfortable  position  on 
the  deck,  against  the  rail,  and,  drawing  his  knees  up  under 
his  chin,  to  begin  as  follows  :  — 

"  Speaking  o'  Cook  and  Cook's  tourists,  I  'm  my  own 
Cook  !  I  reckon  I  calkilate  and  know  every  cent  that  I  '11 
spend  'twixt  Evansville,  Injianny,  and  Rome  and  Naples, 
and  everything  I  '11  see."  He  paused  a  moment,  and,  lay- 
ing his  hand  familiarly  on  my  knee,  said,  "  Did  I  ever  tell 
ye  how  I  kern  to  go  abroad  ?  " 

As  we  had  never  spoken  together  before,  it  was  safe  to 
reply  that  he  had  not.  He  rubbed  his  head  softly  with 
his  hand,  knitted  his  iron-gray  brows,  and  then  said  medi- 
tatively, "  No  !  it  must  hev  been  that  head  waiter.  He 
sorter  favors  you  in  the  musstache  and  gen'ral  get  up.  I 
guess  it  war  him  I  spoke  to." 

I  thought  it  must  have  been. 

"  Well,  then,  this  is  the  way  it  kem  about.  I  was  sittin' 
one  night,  about  three  months  ago,  with  my  darter  Looeze, 
—  my  wife  bein'  dead  some  four  year,  —  and  I  was  reading 
to  her  out  of  th»  paper  about  the  Exposition.  She  sez  to 


390  "A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  " 

me,  quiet-like,  —  she  's  a  quiet  sort  o'  gal  if  you  ever  notissed 
her,  —  '  I  should  like  to  go  thar ; '  I  looks  at  her,  —  it  was 
the  first  time  sense  her  mother  died  that  that  gal  had  ever 
asked  for  anything,  or  had,  so  to  speak,  a  wish.  It  was  n't 
her  way.  She  took  everything  ez  it  kem,  and  durn  my 
skin  ef  I  ever  could  tell  whether  she  ever  wanted  it  to  kem 
in  any  other  way.  I  never  told  ye  this  afore,  did  I  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  said  hastily.     "  Go  on." 

He  felt  his  knees  for  a  moment,  and  then  drew  a  long 
breath.  "  Perhaps,"  he  began  deliberately,  "  ye  don't  know 
that  I'm  a  poor  man.  Seein'  me  here  among  these  rich 
folks,  goin'  abroad  to  Paree  with  the  best  o'  them,  and 
Looeze  thar  —  in  the  first  cabin  —  a  lady,  ez  she  is  —  ye 
would  n't  b'leeve  it,  but  I  'm  poor  !  I  am.  Well,  sir, 
when  that  gal  looks  up  at  me  and  sez  that,  —  I  had  n't  but 
twelve  dollars  in  my  pocket,  and  I  ain't  the  durned  fool  that 
I  look,  —  but  suthin'  in  me  —  suthiri',  you  know,  away 
back  in  me  —  sez,  You  shall !  Loo-ey,  you  shall !  and 
then  I  sez,  —  repeatin'  it,  and  looking  up  right  in  her  eyes, 
— '  You  shall  go,  Loo-ey  '  —  did  you  ever  look  in  my  gal's 
eyes  ?  " 

I  parried  that  somewhat  direct  question  by  another,  "  But 
the  twelve  dollars,  —  how  did  you  increase  that  ?  " 

"  I  raised  it  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  I  got  odd 
jobs  o'  work  here  and  there,  overtime — I'm  a  machinist 
1  used  to  keep  this  yer  over-work  from  Loo  —  saying  I  had. 
to  see  men  in  the  evenin'  to  get  p'ints  about  Europe  —  and 
that —  and  getting  a  little  money  raised  on  my  life  insur- 
ance I  shoved  her  through.  And  here  we  is,  chipper  and 
first  class  —  all  through  —  that  is,  Loo  is  !  " 

"  But  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  !  And  Rome  and 
Naples  and  return  ?  You  can't  do  it." 

He  looked  at  me  cunningly  a  moment.  "  Can't  do  it  ? 
[  've  done  it !  " 

S(  Done  it  ?  " 


"A  TOURIST   FROM  INJIANNY  "  391 

"Wai,  about  the  same,  I  reckon:  I've  figgered  it  out. 
Figgers  don't  lie.  I  ain't  no  Cook's  tourist:  I  kin  see 
Cook  and  give  him  p'ints.  I  tell  you  I  've  figgered  it  out 
to  a  cent,  and  I  've  money  to  spare.  Of  course  I  don't 
reckon  to  travel  with  Loo.  She  '11  go  first  class.  But  I  '11 
be  near  her  if  it 's  in  the  steerage  of  a  ship,  or  in  the 
baggage  car  of  a  railroad.  I  don't  need  much  in  the  way 
of  grub  or  clothes,  and  now  and  then  I  kin  pick  up  a  job. 
Perhaps  you  disremember  that  row  I  had  down  in  the 
engine-room,  when  they  chucked  me  out  of  it  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  looking  at  him  with  astonishment ; 
there  was  evidently  only  a  pleasant  memory  in  his  mind. 
Yet  I  recalled  that  I  had  felt  indignant  for  him  and  his 
daughter. 

"  Well,  that  derned  fool  of  a  Dutchman,  that  chief 
engineer,  gives  me  a  job  the  other  day.  And  ef  I  had  n't 
just  forced  my  way  down  there,  and  talked  sassy  at  him, 
and  criticised  his  macheen,  he  'd  hev  never  knowed  I 
knowed  a  eccentric  from  a  wagon  wheel.  Do  you  see  the 
p'int  ?  " 

I  thought  I  began  to  see.  But  I  could  not  help  asking 
what  his  daughter  thought  of  his  traveling  in  this  inferior 
way. 

He  laughed.  "  When  I  was  gettin'  up  some  p'ints  from 
them  books  of  travel  I  read  her  a  proverb  or  saying  outer 
one  o'  them,  that  'only  princes  and  fools  and  Americans 
traveled  first^class.'  You  see  I  told  her  it  didn't  say 
'  women,'  for  they  naterally  would  ride  first-class  —  and 
Amerikan  gals  being  princesses,  did  'nt  count.  Don'  you 
see?" 

If  I  did  not  quite  follow  his  logic,  nor  see  my  way 
clearly  into  his  daughter's  acquiescence  through  this  speech, 
some  light  may  be  thrown  upon  it  by  his  next  utterance. 
I  had  risen  with  some  vague  words  of  congratulation  on  his 
success,  and  was  about  to  leave  him,  when  he  called  me  back. 


392  "A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  " 

"  Did  I  tell  ye,"  he  said,  cautiously  looking  around,  yet 
with  a  smile  of  stifled  enjoyment  in  his  face,  —  "  did  I  tell 
ye  what  that  gal  —  my  darter  —  said  to  me  ?  No,  I  did  'nt 
tell  ye  —  nor  no  one  else  afore.  Come  here  !  " 

He  made  me  draw  down  closely  into  the  shadow  and 
secrecy  of  the  round-house. 

"  That  night  that  I  told  my  gal  she  should  go  ahroad, 
I  sez  to  her  auite  chipper-like  and  free,  '  I  say,  Looey/ 
sez  I,  '  ye  '11  be  goin'  for  to  marry  some  o'  them  counts 
or  dukes,  or  poten-tates,  I  reckon,  and  ye  '11  leave  the  old 
man.'  And  she  sez,  sez  she,  lookin'  me  squar  in  the  eye 
—  did  ye  ever  notiss  that  gal's  eye  ?  " 

"  She  has  fine  eyes,"  I  replied  cautiously. 

"  They  is  ez  clean  as  a  fresh  milk-pan  and  ez  bright. 
Nothin'  sticks  to  rem.  Eh  ?  " 

"  You  are  right." 

"  Well,  she  looks  up  at  me  this  way,"  —  here  he  achieved 
a  vile  imitation  of  his  daughter's  modest  glance,  not  at  all 
like  her,  —  "  and,  looking  at  me,  she  sez  quietly,  '  That 's 
what  I  'm  goin'  for,  and  to  improve  my  mind.'  He  !  he  ! 
he  !  It 's  a  fack  !  To  marry  a  nobleman,  and  im-prove 
her  mind  !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

The  evident  enjoyment  that  he  took  in  this,  and  the 
quiet  ignoring  of  anything  of  a  moral  quality  in  his 
daughter's  sentiments,  or  in  his  thus  confiding  them  to  a 
stranger's  ear,  again  upset  all  my  theories.  I  may  say  here 
that  it  is  one  of  the  evidences  of  original  character  that  it 
is  apt  to  baffle  all  prognosis  from  a  mere  observer's  stand- 
point. But  I  recalled  it  some  months  after. 

We  parted  in  England.  It  is  not  necessary,  in  this  brief 
chronicle,  to  repeat  the  various  stories  of  "  Uncle  Joshua," 
as  the  younger  and  more  frivolous  of  our  passengers  called 
him,  nor  that  two  thirds  of  the  stories  repeated  were  utterly 
at  variance  with  my  estimate  of  the  character  of  the  man, 
although  I  may  add  that  I  was  also  doubtful  of  the  accuracy 


"A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  "  Sp? 

of  my  own  estimate.  But  one  quality  was  always  dominant, 
—  his  resistless,  dogged  pertinacity  and  calm  imperturba- 
bility !  "  He  asked  Miss  Montmorris  if  she  *  minded ' 
singin'  a  little  in  the  second  cabin  to  liven  it  up,  and  added, 
as  an  inducement,  that  they  did  n't  know  good  music  from 
bad,"  said  Jack  Walker  to  me.  "  And  when  he  mended 
the  broken  lock  of  my  trunk,  he  absolutely  propothed  to 
me  to  athk  couthin  Grath  if  thee  did  n't  want  a  '  koorier  ' 
to  travel  with  her  to  •'  do  mechanics,'  provided  thee  would 
take  charge  of  that  dreadfully  deaf-and-dumb  daughter  of 
his.  Wath  n't  it  funny  ?  Really  he  'th  one  of  your  char- 
acters," said  the  youngest  Miss  Montmorris  to  me  as  we 
made  our  adieu  on  the  steamer. 

I  am  afraid  he  was  not,  although  he  was  good  enough 
afterwards  to  establish  one  or  two  of  my  theories  regarding 
him.  I  was  enabled  to  assist  him  once  in  an  altercation  he 
had  with  a  cabman  regarding  the  fare  of  his  daughter,  the 
cabman  retaining  a  distinct  impression  that  the  father  had 
also  ridden  in  some  obscure  way  in  or  upon  the  same  cab, 
—  as  he  undoubtedly  had,  —  and,  I  grieve  to  say,  foolishly. 
I  heard  that  he  had  forced  his  way  into  a  certain  great 
house  in  England,  and  that  he  was  ignominiously  ejected, 
but  I  also  heard  that  ample  apologies  had  been  made  to 
a  certain  quiet,  modest  daughter  of  his  who  was  without 
on  the  lawn,  and  that  also  a  certain  Personage,  whom  I 
approach,  even  in  this  vague  way,  with  a  capital  letter,  had 
graciously  taken  a  fancy  to  the  poor  child,  and  had  invited 
her  to  a  reception. 

But  this  is  only  hearsay  evidence.  So  also  is  the  story 
which  met  me  in  Paris,  that  he  had  been  up  with  his 
daughter  in  the  captive  balloon,  and  that  at  an  elevation  of 
several  thousand  feet  from  the  earth  he  had  made  some 
remarks  upon  the  attaching  cable  and  the  drum  on  which 
the  cable  revolved,  which  not  only  excited  the  interest  of 
the  passengers,  but  attracted  the  attention  of  the  authorities, 


394  "A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  " 

so  that  he  was  not  only  given  a  gratuitous  ascent  afterwards, 
but  was,  I  am  told,  offered  some  gratuity.  But  I  shall 
restrict  this  narrative  to  the  few  facts  of  which  I  was  person- 
ally cognizant  in  the  career  of  this  remarkable  man. 

I  was  at  a  certain  entertainment  given  in  Paris  by  the 
heirs,  executors,  and  assignees  of  an  admirable  man,  long 
since  gathered  to  his  fathers  in  Pere  la  Chaise,  but  whose 
Shakespeare-like  bust  still  looks  calmly  and  benevolently 
down  on  the  riotous  revelry  of  absurd  wickedness  of  which 
he  was,  when  living,  the  patron  saint.  The  entertainment 
was  of  such  a  character  that,  while  the  performers  were 
chiefly  women,  a  majority  of  the  spectators  were  men.  The 
few  exceptions  were  foreigners,  and  among  them  I  quickly 
recognized  my  fair  fellow-countrywomen,  the  Montmorrises. 
"  Don't  thay  that  you  've  theen  us  here,"  said  the  young- 
est Miss  Montmorris,  "for  ith  only  a  lark.  Ith  awfully 
funny  !  And  that  friend  of  yourth  from  Injianny  ith  here 
with  hith  daughter."  It  did  not  take  me  long  to  find  my 
friend  "  Uncle  Joshua's  "  serious,  practical,  unsympathetic 
face  in  the  front  row  of  tables  and  benches.  But  beside 
him,  to  my  utter  consternation,  was  his  shy  and  modest 
daughter.  In  another  moment  I  was  at  his  side.  "  I 
really  think  —  I  am  afraid,"  I  began  in  a  whisper,  "  that 
you  have  made  a  mistake.  I  don't  think  you  can  be  aware 
of  the  character  of  this  place.  Your  daughter  "  — 

"  Kem  here  with  Miss  Montmorris.  She  's  yer.  It  ;s 
all  right." 

I  was  at  my  wits'  end.  Happily,  at  this  moment  Mdlle. 
Eochefort  from  the  Orangerie  skipped  out  in  the  quadrille 
immediately  before  us,  caught  her  light  skirts  in  either 
hand,  and  executed  a  pas  that  lifted  the  hat  from  the  eyes 
of  some  of  the  front  spectators  and  pulled  it  down  over  the 
eyes  of  others.  The  Montmorrises  fluttered  away  with  a 
half -hysterical  giggle  and  a  half-confounded  escort.  The 
modest-looking  Miss  Loo,  who  had  been  staring  at  every 


"A   TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  "  395 

thing  quite  indifferently,  suddenly  stepped  forward,  took 
her  father's  arm,  and  said  sharply,  "  Come." 

At  this  moment,  a  voice  in  English,  but  unmistakably 
belonging  to  the  politest  nation  in  the  world,  rose  from 
behind  the  girl,  mimickingly.  "  My  God  !  it  is  sch'ocking. 
I  bloosh  !  0  dammit !  " 

In  an  instant  he  was  in  the  hands  of  "  Uncle  Joshua," 
and  forced  back  clamoring  against  the  railing,  his  hat 
smashed  over  his  foolish,  furious  face,  and  half  his  shirt 
and  cravat  in  the  old  man's  strong  grip.  Several  students 
rushed  to  the  rescue  of  their  compatriot,  but  one  or  two 
Englishmen  and  half  a  dozen  Americans  had  managed  in 
some  mysterious  way  to  bound  into  the  arena.  I  looked 
hurriedly  for  Miss  Louise,  but  she  was  gone.  When  we 
had  extricated  the  old  man  from  the  melee,  I  asked  him 
where  she  was. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  she  's  gone  off  with  Sir  Arthur.  I  saw 
him  here  just  as  I  pitched  into  that  derned  fool." 

"Sir  Arthur?"  Tasked. 

"Yes,  an  acquaintance  o'  Loo's." 

"  She  's  in  my  carriage,  just  outside,"  interrupted  a  hand- 
some young  fellow,  with  the  shoulders  of  a  giant  and  the 
blushes  of  a  girl.  "  It 's  all  over  now,  you  know.  It  was 
rather  a  foolish  lark,  you  coming  here  with  her  without 
knowing  —  you  know  —  anything  about  it,  you  know.  But 
this  way  —  thank  you.  She  's  waiting  for  you,"  and  in 
another  instant  he  and  the  old  man  had  vanished. 

Nor  did  I  see  him  again  until  he  stepped  into  the  rail- 
way carriage  with  me  on  his  way  to  Liverpool.  "  You  see 
I  'm  trav'lin'  first-class  now,"  he  said,  "  but  goin'  home  I 
don't  mind  a  trifle  extry  expense." 

"Then  you've  made  your  tour,"  I  asked,  "and  are  suc- 
jessful?" 

"  Wall,  yes,  we  saw  Switzerland  and  Italy,  and  if  I 
bed  n't  been  short  o'  time  we  'd  hev  gone  to  Egypt. 


396  "A    TOURIST   FROM   INJIANNY  " 

Mebbee  next  winter  I  '11  run  over  again  to  see  Loo,,  and 
do  it." 

"Then  your  daughter  does  not  return  with  you?"  I 
continued  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Wall,  no ;  she  's  visiting  some  of  Sir  Arthur's  relatives 
in  Kent,  Sir  Arthur  is  there  —  perhaps  you  recollect 
him  ?"  He  paused  a  moment,  looked  cautiously  around, 
and,  with  the  same  enjoyment  he  had  shown  on  shipboard, 
said,  "  Do  you  remember  the  joke  I  told  you  on  Loo,  when 
she  was  at  sea  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  don't  ye  say  anything  about  it  now.  But  dem 
my  skin,  if  it  dqes  n't  look  like  coming  true," 

And  it  did. 


THE  FOOL  OF  FIVE  FOEKS 

HE  lived  alone.  I  do  not  think  this  peculiarity  arose 
from  any  wish  to  withdraw  his  foolishness  from  the  rest  of 
the  camp,  nor  was  it  probable  that  the  combined  wisdom 
of  Five  Forks  ever  drove  him  into  exile.  My  impression  is, 
that  he  lived  alone  from  choice,  — a  choice  he  made  long 
before  the  camp  indulged  in  any  criticism  of  his  mental 
capacity.  He  was  much  given  to  moody  reticence,  and, 
although  to  outward  appearances  a  strong  man,  was  always 
complaining  of  ill-health.  Indeed,  one  theory  of  his  iso- 
lation was  that  it  afforded  him  better  opportunities  for 
taking  medicine,  of  which  he  habitually  consumed  large 
quantities. 

His  folly  first  dawned  upon  Five  Forks  through  the  Post 
Office  windows.  He  was  for  a  long  time  the  only  man  who 
wrote  home  by  every  mail,  his  letters  being  always  directed 
to  the  same  person,  —  a  woman.  Now  it  so  happened  that 
the  bulk  of  the  Five  Forks'  correspondence  was  usually  the 
other  way  ;  there  were  many  letters  received  —  the  majority 
being  in  the  female  hand  —  but  very  few  answered. 

The  men  received  them  indifferently,  or  as  a  matter  of 
Bourse  ;  a  few  opened  and  read  them  on  the  spot  with 
a  barely  repressed  smile  of  self-conceit,  or  quite  as  fre- 
quently glanced  over  them  with  undisguised  impatience. 
Some  of  the  letters  began  with  "  My  dear  husband,"  and 
some  were  never  called  for.  But  the  fact  that  the  only 
regular  correspondent  of  Five  Forks  never  received  any 
reply  became  at  last  quite  notorious.  Consequently,  when 
an  envelope  was  received  bearing  the  stamp  of  the  "  Dead 


398  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

Letter  Office,"  addressed  to  the  Fool  under  the  more  con- 
ventional title  of  "  Cyrus  Hawkins,"  there  was  quite  a 
fever  of  excitement.  I  do  not  know  how  the  secret  leaked 
out,  but  it  was  eventually  known  to  the  camp  that  the 
envelope  contained  Hawkins'  own  letters  returned.  This 
was  the  first  evidence  of  his  weakness ;  any  man  who  re- 
peatedly wrote  to  a  woman  who  did  not  reply  must  be  a 
fool.  I  think  Hawkins  suspected  that  his  folly  was  known 
to  the  camp,  but  he  took  refuge  in  symptoms  of  chills  and 
fever,  which  he  at  once  developed,  and  effected  a  diversion 
with  three  bottles  of  Indian  cholagogue  and  two  boxes  of 
pills.  At  all  events,  at  the  end  of  a  week  he  resumed  a 
pen,  stiffened  by  tonics,  with  all  his  old  epistolatory  perti- 
nacity. This  time  the  letters  had  a  new  address. 

In  those  days  a  popular  belief  obtained  in  the  mines 
that  Luck  particularly  favored  the  foolish  and  unscientific. 
Consequently,  when  Hawkins  struck  a  "  pocket. "  in  the 
nillside  near  his  solitary  cabin,  there  was  but  little  surprise'. 
"He  will  sink  it  all  in  the  next  hole,"  was  the  prevail- 
ing belief,  predicted  upon  the  usual  manner  in  which  the 
possessor  of  "  nigger  luck  "  disposed  of  his  fortune.  To 
everybody's  astonishment,  Hawkins,  after  taking  out  about 
eight  thousand  dollars  and  exhausting  the  pocket,  did  not 
prospect  for  another.  The  camp  then  waited  patiently  to 
see  what  he  would  do  with  his  money.  I  think,  however, 
that  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  their  indignation  was 
&ept  from  taking  the  form  of  a  personal  assault  when  it 
became  known  that  he  had  purchased  a  draft  for  eight 
thousand  dollars  in  favor  of  "that  woman."  More  than 
this,  it  was  finally  whispered  that  ,the  draft  was  returned  to 
him  as  his  letters  had  been,  and  that  he  was  ashamed  to 
reclaim  the  money  at  the  express  office.  .  "  It  would  n't  be 
a  bad  speckilation  to  go  East,  get  some  smart  gal  for  a 
hundred  dollars  to  dress  herself  up  and  represent  that  hag, 
and  jest  freeze  on  to  that  eight  thousand,"  suggested  a  far- 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  399 

seeing  financier.  I  may  state  here  that  we  always  alluded 
to  Hawkins'  fair  unknown  as  "  The  Hag,"  without  having. 
I  am  confident,  the  least  justification  for  that  epithet. 

That  the  Fool  should  gamble  seemed  eminently  fit  and 
proper.  That  he  should  occasionally  win  a  large  stake, 
according  to  that  popular  theory  which  I  have  recorded  in 
the  preceding  paragraph,  appeared  also  a  not  improbable 
or  inconsistent  fact.  That  he  should,  however,  break  the 
faro  bank  which  Mr.  John  Hamlin  had  set  up  in  Five 
Forks,  and  carry  off  a  sum  variously  estimated  at  from  ten 
to  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  not  return  the  next  day 
and  lose  the  money  at  the  same  table,  really  appeared  in- 
credible. Yet  such  was  the  fact.  A  day  or  two  passed 
without  any  known  investment  of  Mr.  Hawkins'  recently 
acquired  capital.  "  Ef  he  allows  to  send  it  to  that  Hag," 
said  one  prominent  citizen,  "  suthin'  ought  to  be  done  !  It 's 
jest  ruinin'  the  reputation  of  this  yer  camp  —  this  sloshin' 
around  o'  capital  on  non-residents  ez  don't  claim  it !  "  "  It 's 
settin'  an  example  o'  extravagance,"  said  another,  "  ez  is 
little  better  nor  a  swindle.  Thar 's  more  'n  five  men  in  this 
camp  thet,  hearin'  thet  Hawkins  had  sent  home  eight 
thousand  dollars,  must  jest  rise  up  and  send  home  their 
hard  earnings,  too !  And  then  to  think  thet  that  eight 
thousand  was  only  a  bluff,  after  all,  and  thet  it 's  lyin'  there 
on  call  in  Adams  &  Co.'s  bank !  Well !  I  say  it 's  one  o' 
them  things  a  vigilance  committee  oughter  look  into !  " 

When  there  seemed  no  possibility  of  this  repetition  of 
Hawkins'  folly,  the  anxiety  to  know  what  he  had  really 
done  with  his  money  became  intense.  At  last  a  self- 
appointed  committee  of  four  citizens  dropped  artfully,  but 
to  outward  appearances  carelessly,  upon  him  in  his  seclu- 
sion. When  some  polite  formalities  had  been  exchanged, 
and  some  easy  vituperation  of  a  backward  season  offered  by 
each  of  the  parties,  Tom  Wingate  approached  the  subject :  — 

"  Sorter  dropped  heavy  on  Jack  Hamlin  the  other  night, 


400  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

did  n't  ye  ?  He  allows  you  did  n't  give  him  no  show  for 
revenge.  I  said  you  was  n't  no  such  d — d  fool  —  did  n't  I, 
Dick  ?  "  continued  the  artful  Wingate,  appealing  to  a  con- 
federate. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick  promptly.  "  You  said  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars  was  n't  goin'  to  be  thrown  around  recklessly. 
You  said  Cyrus  had  suthin'  better  to  do  with  his  capital," 
superadded  Dick,  with  gratuitous  mendacity.  "  I  disre- 
member  now  what  partickler  investment  you  said  he  was 
goin'  to  make  with  it,"  he  continued,  appealing  with  easy 
indifference  to  his  friend. 

Of  course  Wingate  did  not  reply,  but  looked  at  the 
Fool  Avho  with  a  troubled  face  was  rubbing  his  legs  softly. 
After  a  pause  he  turned  deprecatingly  toward  his  visitors. 

"  Ye  did  n't  enny  of  ye  ever  hev  a  sort  of  tremblin'  in 
your  legs, — a  kind  o'  shakiness  from  the  knee  down? 
Suthin',"  he  continued,  slightly  brightening  with  his  topic, 
"  suthin'  that  begins  like  chills,  and  yet  ain't  chills.  A 
kind  o'  sensation  of  goneness  here,  and  a  kind  o'  feelin' 
as  if  you  might  die  suddent !  When  Wright's  Pills  don't 
somehow  reach  the  spot,  and  Quinine  don't  fetch  you  ?  " 

"  No !  "  said  Wingate,  with  a  curt  directness,  and  the 
air  of  authoritatively  responding  for  his  friends.  "  No, 
never  had.  You  was  speakin'  of  this  yer  investment." 

"  And  your  bowels  all  the  time  irregular !  "  continued 
Hawkins,  blushing  under  Wingate's  eye,  and  yet  clinging 
despairingly  to  his  theme  like  a  shipwrecked  mariner  to  his 
plank. 

Wingate  did  not  reply,  but  glanced  significantly  at  the 
rest.  Hawkins  evidently  saw  this  recognition  of  his  mental 
deficiency,  and  said  apologetically,  "  You  was  saying  suthin' 
about  my  investment  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Wingate,  so  rapidly  as  to  almost  take  Haw- 
kins'  breath  away,  —  "  the  investment  you  made  in  "  — 

"Kafferty's  Ditch,"  said  the  Fool,  timidly. 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  401 

For  a  moment  the  visitors  could  only  stare  blankly  at 
each  other.  "  Rafferty's  Ditch,"  the  one  notorious  failure 
of  Five  Forks  !  Rafferty's  Ditch,  the  impracticable  scheme 
of  an  utterly  unpractical  man  ;  Rafferty's  Ditch,  a  ridiculous 
plan  for  taking  water  that  could  not  be  got  to  a  place  where 
it  was  n't  wanted  !  Rafferty's  Ditch,  that  had  buried  the 
fortunes  of  Rafferty  and  twenty  wretched  stockholders  in 
its  muddy  depths ! 

"  And  thet  's  it  —  is  it  ?  "  said  Wingate,  after  a  gloomy 
pause.  "  Thet 's  it  !  I  see  it  all  now,  boys.  Thet 's  how- 
ragged  Pat  Rafferty  went  down  to  San  Francisco  yesterday 
in  store  clothes,  and  his  wife  and  four  children  went  off  in 
a  kerridge  to  Sacramento.  Thet 's  why  them  ten  workmen 
of  his,  ez  hed  't  a  cent  to  bless  themselves  with,  was  playin' 
billiards  last  night  and  eatin'  isters.  Thet's  whar  that 
money  kurn  frum  —  one  hundred  -dollars  —  to  pay  for  thet 
long  advertisement  of  the  new  issue  of  Ditch  stock  in  the 
'  Times  '  yesterday.  Thet 's  why  them  six  strangers  were 
booked  at  the  Magnolia  Hotel  yesterday.  Don't  you  see  — 
it 's  thet  money  and  thet  Fool !  " 

The  Fool  sat  silent.      The  visitors  rose  without  a  word. 

"  You  never  took  any  of  them  Indian  Vegetable  Pills  ?  " 
asked  Hawkins  timidly,  of  Wingate. 

"  No,"  roared  Wingate,  as  he  opened  the  door. 

"  They  tell  me  that  took  with  the  Panacea  —  they  was 
out  o'  the  Panacea  when  I  went  to  the  drug  store  last  week 

^ they  say  that,  took  With  the  Panacea,  they  always  effect 

a  certing  cure." — .But  by  this  time  Wingate  and  his  dis- 
gusted friends  had  retreated,  slamming  the  door  on  the  Fool 
and  his  ailments. 

Nevertheless  in  six  months  the  whole  affair  was  forgotten, 
the  money  had  been  spent  — the  "  Ditch  "  had  been  pur- 
chased by  a  company  of  Boston  capitalists,  fired  by  the 
glowing  description  of  an  Eastern  tourist,  who  had  spent 
one  drunken  night  at  Five  Forks  —  and  I  think  even  the 


402  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

mental  condition  of  Hawkins  might  have  remained  undis- 
turbed by  criticism,  but  for  a  singular  incident. 

It  was  during  an  exciting  political  campaign,  when  party 
feeling  ran  high,  that  the  irascible  Captain  McFadden,  of 
Sacramento,  visited  Five  Forks.  During  a  heated  discussion 
in  the  Prairie  Rose  Saloon,  words  passed  between  the  Cap- 
tain and  the  Honorable  Calhoun  Bungstarter,  ending  in  a 
challenge.  The  Captain  bore  the  infelix  reputation  of  being 
a  notorious  duellist  and  a  dead  shot:  the  Captain  was  un- 
popular ;  the  Captain  was  believed  to  have  been  sent  by 
the  opposition  for  a  deadly  purpose ;  and  the  Captain  was, 
moreover,  a  stranger.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  with  Five 
Forks  this  latter  condition  did  not  carry  the  quality  of  sanc- 
tity or  reverence  that  usually  obtains  among  other  nomads. 
There  was  consequently  some  little  hesitation  when  the 
Captain  turned  upon  the  crowd  and  asked  for  some  one  to 
act  as  his  friend.  To  everybody's  astonishment,  and  to  the 
indignation  of  many,  the  Fool  stepped  forward  and  offered 
himself  in  that  capacity.  I  do  not  know  whether  Captain 
McFadden  would  have  chosen  him  voluntarily,  but  he  was 
constrained,  in  the  absence  of  a  better  man,  to  accept  his 
services. 

The  duel  never  took  place  !  The  preliminaries  were  all 
arranged,  the  spot  indicated,  the  men  were  present  with 
their  seconds,  there  was  no  interruption  from  without,  there 
was  no  explanation  or  apology  passed  —  but  the  duel  did 
not  take  place.  It  may  be  readily  imagined  that  these  facts, 
which  were  all  known  to  Five  Forks,  threw  the  whole  com- 
munity into  a  fever  of  curiosity.  The  principals,  the  sur- 
geon, and  one  second  left  town  the  next  day.  Only  the 
Fool  remained.  He  resisted  all  questioning —  declaring 
himself  held  in  honor  not  to  divulge  - —  in  short,  conducted 
himself  with  consistent  but  exasperating  folly.  It  was  not 
until  six  months  had  passed  that  Colonel  Starbottle,  the 
second  of  Calhoun  Bungstarter,  in  a  moment  of  weakness 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  403 

superinduced  by  the  social  glass,  condescended  to  explain. 
I  should  not  do  justice  to  the  parties  if  I  did  not  give  that 
explanation  in  the  Colonel's  own  words.  I  may  remark,  in 
passing,  that  the  characteristic  dignity  of  Colonel  Starbottle 
always  became  intensified  by  stimulants,  and  that  by  the 
same  process  all  sense  of  humor  was  utterly  eliminated. 

"  With  the  understanding  that  I  am  addressing  myself 
confidentially  to  men  of  honor,"  said  the  Colonel,  elevating 
his  chest  above  the  bar-room  counter  of  the  Prairie  Rose 
Saloon,  "  I  trust  that  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  pro- 
tect myself  from  levity,  as  I  was  forced  to  do  in  Sacramento 
on  the  only  other  occasion  when  I  entered  into  an  explana- 
tion of  this  delicate  affair  by  —  er  —  er  —  calling  the  indi- 
vidual to  a  personal  account  —  er !  I  do  not  believe," 
added  the  Colonel,  slightly  waving  his  glass  of  liquor  in 
the  air  with  a  graceful  gesture  of  courteous  deprecation  — 
"  knowing  what  I  do  of  the  present  company  —  that  such 
a  course  of  action  is  required  here.  '  Certainly  not  —  Sir  — 
in  the  home  of  Mr.  Hawkins  —  er  —  the  gentleman  who 
represented  Captain  McFadden,  whose  conduct,  ged,  Sir,  is 
worthy  of  praise,  blank  me ! 

Apparently  satisfied  with  the  gravity  and  respectful  atten- 
tion of  his  listeners,  Colonel  Starbottle  smiled  relentingly 
and  sweetly,  closed  his  eyes  half  dreamily,  as  if  to  recall 
his  wandering  thoughts,  and  began  :  — 

"  As  the  spot  selected  was  nearest  the  tenement  of  Mr. 
Hawkins,  it  was  agreed  that  the  parties  should  meet  there. 
They  did  so  promptly  at  half  past  six.  The  morning  being 
chilly,  Mr.  Hawkins  extended  the  hospitalities  of  his  house 
with  a  bottle  of  Bourbon  whiskey  —  of  which  all  partook 
but  myself.  The  reason  for  that  exception  is,  I  believe,, 
well  known.  It  is  my  invariable  custom  to  take  brandy  — 
a  wine-glassful  in  a  cup  of  strong  coffee  —  immediately  on 
rising.  It  stimulates  the  functions,  sir,  without  producing 
3iiy  blank  derangement  of  the  nerves." 


404  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

The  barkeeper,  to  whom,  as  an  expert,  the  Colonel  had 
graciously  imparted  this  information,  nodded  approvingly, 
and  the  Colonel,  amid  a  breathless  silence,  went  on  :  — 

"  We  were  about  twenty  minutes  in  reaching  the  spot. 
The  ground  was  measured,  the  weapons  were  loaded,  when 
Mr.  Bungstarter  confided  to  me  the  information  that  he 
was  unwell  and  in  great  pain!  On  consultation  with  Mr. 
Hawkins,  it  appeared  that  his  principal  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  field  was  also  suffering  and  in  great  pain.  The  symp- 
toms  were  such  as  a  medical  man  would  pronounce  '  chol- 
eraic.' I  say  would  have  pronounced,  for  on  examination 
the  surgeon  was  also  found  to  be  —  er  —  in  pain,  and,  I 
regret  to  say,  expressing  himself  in  language  unbecoming 
the  occasion.  His  impression  was  that  some  powerful 
drug  had  been  administered.  On  referring  the  question  to 
Mr.  Hawkins,  he  remembered  that  the  bottle  of  whiskey 
partaken  by  them  contained  a  medicine  which  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  taking,  but  which,  having  failed  to  act  upon 
him,  he  had  concluded  to  be  generally  ineffective,  and  had 
forgotten.  His  perfect  willingness  to  hold  himself  person- 
ally responsible  to  each  of  the  parties,  his  genuine  concern 
at  the  disastrous  effect  of  the  mistake,  mingled  with  his 
own  alarm  at  the  state  of  his  system,  which  —  er  —  failed 
to  —  er  —  respond  to  the  peculiar  qualities  of  the  medicine, 
was  most  becoming  to  him  as  a  man  of  honor  and  a  gentle- 
man !  After  an  hour's  delay,  both  principals  being  com- 
pletely exhausted,  and  abandoned  by  the  surgeon,  who  was 
unreasonably  alarmed  at  his  own  condition,  Mr.  Hawkins 
and  I  agreed  to  remove  our  men  to  Markleville.  There, 
after  a  further  consultation  with  Mr.  Hawkins,  an  amicable 
adjustment  of  all  difficulties,  honorable  to  both  parties, 
and  governed  by  profound  secrecy,  was  arranged.  I  be- 
lieve," added  the  Colonel,  looking  around  and  setting 
down  his  glass,  "  no  gentleman  has  yet  expressed  himself 
other  than  satisfied  with  the  result," 


THE   FOOL   OF  FIVE   FORKS  40o 

Perhaps  it  was  the  Colonel's  manner,  but  whatever  was 
the  opinion  of  Five  Forks  regarding  the  intellectual  display 
of  Mr.  Hawkins  in  this  affair,  there  was  very  little  outspoken 
criticism  at  the  moment.  In  a  few  weeks  the  whole  thing 
was  forgotten,  except  as  part  of  the  necessary  record  of 
Hawkins'  blunders,  which  was  already  a  pretty  full  one. 
Again  some  later  follies  conspired  to  obliterate  the  past, 
until,  a  year  later,  a  valuable  lead  was  discovered  in  the 
"  Blazing  Star "  Tunnel,  in  the  hill  where  he  lived,  and  a 
large  sum  was  offered  him  for  a  portion  of  his  land  on  the 
hill-tap.  Accustomed  as  Five  Forks  had  become  to  the 
exhibition  of  his  folly,  it  was  with  astonishment  that  they 
learned  that  he  resolutely  and  decidedly  refused  the  offer. 
The  reason  that  he  gave  was  still  more  astounding.  He 
was  about  to  build  ! 

To  build  a  house  upon  property  available  for  mining  pur- 
poses was  preposterous  ;  to  build  at  all,  with  a  roof  already 
covering  him,  was  an  act  of  extravagance ;  to  build  a  house 
of  the  style  he  proposed  was  simply  madness  ! 

Yet  here  were  facts.  The  plans  were  made  and  the 
lumber  for  the  new  building  was  already  on  the  ground, 
while  the  shaft  of  the  "  Blazing  Star "  was  being  sunk 
below.  The  site  was,  in  reality,  a  very  picturesque  one,  — 
the  building  itself  of  a  style  and  quality  hitherto  unknown 
in  Five  Forks.  The  citizens,  at  first  skeptical,  during  their 
moments  of  recreation  and  idleness  gathered  doubtingly 
about  the  locality.  Day  by  day,  in  that  climate  of  rapid 
growths,  the  building,  pleasantly  known  in  the  slang  of  Five 
Forks  as  "the  Idiot  Asylum,"  rose  beside  the  green  oaks 
and  clustering  firs  of  Hawkins  Hill,  as  if  it  were  part  of 
the  natural  phenomena.  At  last  it  was  completed.  Then 
Mr.  Hawkins  proceeded  to  furnish  it  with  an  expensiveness 
and  extravagance  of  outlay  quite  in  keeping  with  his  former 
idiocy.  Carpets,  sofas,  mirrors,  and  finally  a  piano  —  the 
only  one  known  in  the  county,  and  brought  at  great  expense 


406  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  .    ' 

from  Sacramento  —  kept  curiosity  at  a  fever  heat.  More 
than  that,  there  were  articles  and  ornaments  which  a  few 
married  experts  declared  only  fit  for  women.  When  the 
furnishing  of  the  house  was  complete — it  had  occupied 
two  months  of  the  speculative  and  curious  attention  of  the 
camp  —  Mr.  Hawkins  locked  the  front  door,  put  the  key  in 
his  pocket,  and  quietly  retired  to  his  more  humhle  roof, 
lower  on  the  hillside  ! 

I  have  not  deemed  it  necessary  to  indicate  to  the  intelli- 
gent reader  all  of  the  theories  which  obtained  in  Five  Forks 
during  the  erection  of  the  building.  Some  of  them  may  be 
readily  imagined.  That  "  the  Hag  "  had  by  artful  coyness 
and  systematic  reticence  at  last  completely  subjugated  the 
Fool,  and  that  the  new  house  was  intended  for  the  nuptial 
bower  of  the  (predestined)  unhappy  pair,  was  of  course  the 
prevailing  opinion.  .But  when,  after  a  reasonable  time  had 
elapsed,  and  the  house  still  remained  untenanted,  the  more 
exasperating  conviction  forced  itself  upon  the  general  mind 
that  the  Fool  had  been  for  the  third  time  imposed  upon. 
When  two  months  had  elapsed  and  there  seemed  no  pros- 
pect of  a  mistress  for  the  new  house,  I  think  public  indig- 
nation became  so  strong  that,  had  "  the  Hag  "  arrived,  the 
marriage  would  have  been  publicly  prevented.  But  no  one 
appeared  that  seemed  to  answer  to  this  idea  of  an  available 
tenant,  and  all  inquiry  of  Mr.  Hawkins,  as  to  his  intention 
in  building  a  house  and  not  renting  it  or  occupying  it,  failed 
to  elicit  any  further  information.  The  reasons  that  he  gave 
Avere  felt  to  be  vague,  evasive,  and  unsatisfactory.  He  was 
in  no  hurry  to  move,  he  said  ;  when  he  was  ready,  it  surely 
was  not  strange  that  he  should  like  to  have  his  house  all 
ready  to  receive  him.  He  was  often  seen  upon  the  veranda 
of  a  summer  evening  smoking  a  cigar.  It  is  reported  that 
one  night  the  house  was  observed  to  be  brilliantly  lighted 
from  garret  to  basement ;  that  a  neighbor,  observing  this, 
crept  toward  the  open  parlor  window,  and,  looking  in, 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  407 

espied  the  Fool,  accurately  dressed  in  evening  costume, 
lounging  upon  a  sofa  in  the  drawing-room,  with  the  easy 
air  of  socially  entertaining  a  large  party.  Notwithstanding 
this,  the  house  was  unmistakably  vacant  that  evening,  save 
for  the  presence  of  the  owner,  as  the  witnesses  afterward 
testified.  When  this  story  was  first  related,  a  few  practical 
nen  suggested  the  theory  that  Mr.  Hawkins  was  simply 
drilling  himself  in  the  elaborate  duties  of  hospitality  against 
a  probable  event  in  his  history.  A  few  ventured  the  belief 
that  the  house  was  haunted.  The  imaginative  editor  of  the 
Five  Forks  "  Record  "  evolved  from  the  depths  of  his  pro- 
fessional consciousness  a  story  that  Hawkins'  sweetheart 
had  died,  and  that  he  regularly  entertained  her  spirit  in  this 
beautifully  furnished  mausoleum.  The  occasional  spectacle 
of  Hawkins'  tall  figure  pacing  the  veranda  on  moonlight 
nights  lent  some  credence  to  this  theory,  until  an  unlooked- 
for  incident  diverted  all  speculation  into  another  channel. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  certain  wild,  rude  valley, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Five  Forks,  had  become  famous 
as  a  picturesque  resort.  Travelers  had  visited  it,  and 
declared  that  there  were  more  cubic  yards  of  rough  stone 
cliff,  and  a  waterfall  of  greater  height,  than  any  they  had 
visited.  Correspondents  had  written  it  up  with  extrava- 
gant rhetoric  and  inordinate  poetical  quotation.  Men  and 
women  who  had  never  enjoyed  a  sunset,  a  tree,  or  a  flower 

who  had  never  appreciated  the  graciousness  or  meaning 

of  the  yellow  sunlight  that  flecked  their  homely  doorways, 
or  the  tenderness  of  a  midsummer's  night,  to  whose  moon- 
light they  bared  their  shirt-sleeves  or  their  tulle  dresses 

came   from    thousands  of   miles   away   to   calculate   the 

height  of  this  rock,  to  observe  the  depth  of  this  chasm,  to 
remark  upon  the  enormous  size  of  this  unsightly  tree,  and 
to  believe  with  ineffable  self-complacency  that  they  really 
admired  nature.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  tastes  or  weaknesses  of  the  individual,  the 


408  THE    FOOL   OF   FIVE    FORKS 

more  prominent  and  salient  points  of  the  valley  were 
christened,  and  there  was  a  "  Lace  Handkerchief  Fall," 
and  the  "  Tears  of  Sympathy  Cataract,"  and  one  distin- 
guished orator's  "  Peak,"  and  several  "  Mounts  "  of  various 
noted  people,  living  or  dead  ;  and  an  "  Exclamation  Point/' 
and  a  "  Valley  of  Silent  Adoration."  And,  in  course  of 
time,  empty  soda-water  bottles  were  found  at  the  base  of 
the  cataract,  and  greasy  newspapers  and  fragments  of  ham 
sandwiches  lay  at  the  dusty  roots  of  giant  trees.  With  this, 
there  were  frequent  irruptions  of  closely  shaven  and  tightly 
cravated  men  and  delicate-faced  women  in  the  one  long 
street  of  Five  Forks,  and  a  scampering  of  mules,  and  an 
occasional  procession  of  dusty  brown-linen  cavalry. 

A  year  after  "  Hawkins'  Idiot  Asylum  "  was  completed, 
one  day  there  drifted  into  the  valley  a  riotous  cavalcade 
of  "  school-marms,"  teachers  of  the  San  Franc'sco  public 
schools,  out  for  a  holiday.  Not  severely-spectacled  Miner- 
vas  and  chastely  armed  and  mailed  Pallases,  but,  I  fear 
for  the  security  of  Five  Fork,  very  human,  charming,  and 
mischievous  young  women.  At  least,  so  the  men  thought, 
working  in  the  ditches  and  tunneling  on  the  hillside  ;  and 
when,  in  the  interests  of  Science  and  the  mental  advance- 
ment of  Juvenile  Posterity,  it  was  finally  settled  that  they 
should  stay  in  Five  Forks  two  or  three  days  for  the  sake 
of  visiting  the  various  mines,  and  particularly  the  "  Blazing 
Star  "  Tunnel,  there  was  some  flutter  of  masculine  anxiety. 
There  was  a  considerable  inquiry  for  "  store  clothes,"  a 
hopeless  overhauling  of  old  and  disused  raiment,  and  a 
general  demand  for  "  boiled  shirts  "  and  the  barber. 

Meanwhile,  with  that  supreme  audacity  and  impudent 
hardihood  of  the  sex  when  gregarious,  the  school-marms 
rode  through  the  town,  admiring  openly  the  handsome 
faces  and  manly  figures  that  looked  up  from  the  ditches  or 
rose  behind  the  cars  of  ore  at  the  mouths  of  tunnels. 
Indeed,  it  is  alleged  that  Jenny  Forester,  backed  and 


THE   FOOL   OF  FIVE   FORKS  409 

supported  by  seven  other  equally  shameless  young  women, 
had  opt  nly  and  publicly  waved  her  handkerchief  to  the 
florid  Hercules  of  Five  Forks,  —  one  Tom  Flynn,  formerly 
of  Virginia,  —  leaving  that  good-natured  but  not  over-bright 
giant  pulling  his  blonde  moustaches  in  bashful  amazement. 
It  was  a  pleasant  June  afternoon  that  Miss  Nelly  Arnot, 
Principal  of  the  primary  department  of  one  of  the  public 
schools  of  San  Francisco,  having  evaded  her  companions, 
resolved  to  put  into  operation  a  plan  which  had  lately 
sprung  up  in  her  courageous  and  mischief-loving  fancy. 
\\  ith  that  wonderful  and  mysterious  instinct  of  her  sex, 
from  whom  no  secrets  of  the  affections  are  hid  and  to 
whom  all  hearts  are  laid  open,  she  had  heard  the  story  of 
Hawkins'  folly  and  the  existence  of  the  "Idiot  Asylum." 
Alone,  on  Hawkins  Hill,  she  had  determined  to  penetrate 
its  seclusion.  Skirting  the  underbrush  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  she  managed  to  keep  the  heaviest  timber  between 
herself  and  the  "  Blazing  Star"  Tunnel  at  its  base,  as  well 
as  the  cabin  of  Hawkins,  halfway  up  the  ascent,  until,  by 
a  circuitous  route,  at  last  she  reached,  unobserved,  the 
summit.  Before  her  rose,  silent,  darkened,  and  motion- 
less, the  object  of  her  search.  Here  her  courage  failed 
her,  with  all  the  characteristic  inconsequence  of  her  sex. 
A  sudden  fear  of  all  the  dangers  she  had  safely  passed 
—  bears,  tarantulas,  drunken  men,  and  lizards  —  came  upon 
her.  For  a  moment,  as  she  afterwards  expressed  it,  "  she 
thought  she  should  die."  With  this  belief,  probably,  she 
gathered  three  large  stones,  which  she  could  hardly  lift,  for 
the  purpose  of  throwing  a  great  distance;  put  two  hair- 
pins in  her  mouth,  and  carefully  readjusted  with  both 
hands  two  stray  braids  of  her  lovely  blue-black  mane 
which  had  fallen  in  gathering  the  stones.  Then  she  felt 
in  the  pockets  of  her  linen  duster  for  her  card-case,  hand- 
kerchief, pocket-book,  and  smelling-bottle,  and,  finding 
them  intact,  suddenly  assumed  an  air  of  easy,  ladylike 


410  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

unconcern,  went  up  the  steps  of  the  veranda,  and  demurely 
pulled  the  front  door-hell,  which  she  knew  would  not  be 
answered.  After  a  decent  pause,  she  walked  around  the 
encompassing  veranda,  examining  the  closed  shutters  of  .the 
French  windows  until  she  found  one  that  yielded  to  her 
touch.  Here  she  paused  again  to  adjust  her  coquettish 
hat  by  the  mirror-like  surface  of  the  long  sash  window  that 
reflected  the  full  length  of  her  pretty  figure.  And  then 
she  opened  the  window  and  entered  the  room. 

Although  long  closed,  the  house  had  a  smell  of  newness 
and  of  fresh  paint  that  was  quite  unlike  the  mouldiness  of 
the  conventional  haunted  house.  The  bright  carpets,  the 
cheerful  walls,  the  glistening  oilcloths  were  quite  incon- 
sistent with  the  idea  of  a  ghost.  With  childish  curiosity 
she  began  to  explore  the  silent  house,  at  first  timidly,  — 
opening  the  doors  with  a  violent  push,  and  then  stepping 
back  from  the  threshold  to  make  good  a  possible  retreat, 
—  and  then  more  boldly,  as  she  became  convinced  of  her 
security  and  absolute  loneliness.  In  one  of  the  chambers, 
the  largest,  there  were  fresh  flowers  in  a  vase,  —  evidently 
gathered  that  morning ;  and,  what  seemed  still  more  re- 
markable, the  pitchers  and  ewers  were  freshly  filled  with 
water.  This  obliged  Miss  Nelly  to  notice  another  singular 
fact,  namely,  that  the  house  was  free  from  dust,  —  the  one 
most  obtrusive  and  penetrating  visitor  of  Five  Forks.  The 
floors  and  carpets  had  been  recently  swept,  the  chairs  and 
furniture  carefully  wiped  and  dusted.  If  the  house  was 
haunted,  it  was  possessed  by  a  spirit  who  had  none  of  the 
usual  indifference  to  decay  and  mould.  And  yet  the  beds 
had  evidently  never  been  slept  in,  the  very  springs  of  the 
chair  in  which 'she  sat  creaked  stiffly  at  the  novelty,  the 
closet  doors  opened  with  the  reluctance  of  fresh  paint  and 
varnish,  and,  in  spite  of  the  warmth,  cleanliness,  and  cheer- 
fulness of  furniture  and  decoration,  there  was  none  of  the 
%ase  of  tenancy  and  occupation.  As  Miss  Nelly  afterwards 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  411 

confessed,  she  longed  to  "  tumble  things  around,"  and,, 
when  she  reached  the  parlor  or  drawing-room  again,  she 
could  hardly  resist  the  desire.  Particularly  was  she  tempted 
by  a  closed  piano  that  stood  mutely  against  the  wall.  She 
thought  she  would  open  it  just  to  see  who  was  the  maker. 
That  done,  it  would  be  no  harm  to  try  its  tone.  She  did 
so,  with  one  little  foot  on  the  soft  pedal.  But  Miss  Nelly 
was  too  good  a  player,  and  too  enthusiastic  a  musician,  to 
stop  at  half  measures.  She  tried  it  again,  —  this  time  so 
sincerely  that  the  whole  house  seemed  to  spring  into  voice. 
Then  she  stopped  and  listened.  There  was  no  response,  — 
the  empty  rooms  seemed  to  have  relapsed  into  their  old 
stillness.  She  stepped  out  on  the  veranda ;  a  woodpecker 
recommenced  his  tapping  on  an  adjacent  tree,  the  rattle  of 
a  cart  in  the  rocky  gulch  below  the  hill  came  faintly  up. 
No  one  was  to  be  seen  far  or  near.  Miss  Nelly,  reassured, 
returned.  She  again  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys,  — 
stopped,  caught  at  a  melody  running  in  her  mind,  half 
played  it,  and  then  threw  away  all  caution.  Before  five 
minutes  had  elapsed  she  had  entirely  forgotten  herself,  and 
with  her  linen  duster  thrown  aside,  her  straw  hat  flung 
on  the  piano,  her  white  hands  bared,  and  a  black  loop  oi 
her  braided  hair  hanging  upon  her  shoulder,  was  fairly 
embarked  upon  a  flowing  sea  of  musical  recollection. 

She  had  played  perhaps  half  an  hour,  when,  having  just 
finished  an  elaborate  symphony  and  resting  her  hands  on 
the  keys,  she  heard  very  distinctly  and  unmistakably  the 
sound  of  applause  from  without.  In  an  instant  the  fires  ot 
shame  and  indignation  leaped  into  her  cheeks,  and  she  rose 
from  the  instrument  and  ran  to  the  window,  only  in  time  to 
catch  sight  of  a  dozen  figures  in  blue  and  red  flannel  shirts 
vanishing  hurriedly  through  the  trees  below. 

Miss  Nelly's  mind  was  instantly  made  up.  I  think  I 
have  already  intimated  that  under  the  stimulus  of  excite- 
ment she  was  not  wanting  in  courage,  and,  as  she  quietiy 


412  THE   FOOL  OF   FIVE   FORKS 

resumed  her  gloves,  hat,  and  duster,  she  was  not  perhaps 
exactly  the  young  person  that  it  would  be  entirely  safe  for 
the  timid,  embarrassed,  or  inexperienced  of  my  sex  to  meet 
alone.  She  shut  down  the  piano,  and,  having  carefully 
reclosed  all  the  windows  and  doors,  and  restored  the  house 
to  its  former  desolate  condition,  she  stepped  from  tin 
veranda,  and  proceeded  directly  to  the  cabin  of  the  unin- 
tellectual"  Hawkins,  that  reared  its  adobe  chimney  above 
the  iimbrage  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below. 

The  door  opened  instantly  to  her  impulsive  knock,  and 
the  Fool  of  Five  Forks  stood  before  her.  Miss  Nelly  had 
never  before  seen  the  man  designated  by  this  infelicitous 
title,  and  as  he  stepped  backward  in  half  courtesy  and  half 
astonishment  she  was  for  the  moment  disconcerted.  He 
was  tall,  finely  formed,  and  dark-bearded.  Above  cheeks  a 
little  hollowed  by  care  and  ill-health  shone  a  pair  of  hazel 
eyes,  very  large,  very  gentle,  but  inexpressibly  sad  and 
mournful.  This  was  certainly  not  the  kind  of  man  Miss 
Nelly  had  expected  to  see,  yet,  after  her  first  embarrassment 
had  passed,  the  very  circumstance,  oddly  enough,  added 
to  her  indignation,  and  stung  her  wounded  pride  still  more 
deeply.  Nevertheless  the  arch  hypocrite  instantly  changed 
her  tactics  with  the  swift  intuition  of  her  sex. 

"  I  have  come,"  she  said  with  a  dazzling  smile/  infinitely 
more  dangerous  than  her  former  dignified  severity,  —  "I 
have  come  to  ask  your  pardon  for  a  great  liberty  I -have 
just  taken.  I  believe  the  new  house  above  us  on  the  hill 
is  yours.  I  was  so  much  pleased  with  its  exterior  that  1 
left  my  friends  for  a  moment  below  here,"  she  continued 
artfully,  with  a  slight  ,wave  of  the  hand,  as  if  indicating  a 
band  of  fearless  Amazons  without,  and  waiting  to  avenge 
any  possible  insult  offered  to  one  of  their  number,  "  and 
ventured  to  enter  it.  Finding  it  unoccupied,  as  I  had  been 
told,  I  am  afraid  I  had  the  audacity  to  sit  down  and  amuse 
myself  for  a  few  moments  at  the  piano  —  while  waiting  foi 
my  friends." 


THE   FOOL  OF  FIVE  FORKS  413 

Hawkins  raised  his  beautiful  eyes  to  hers.  He  saw  a 
very  pretty  girl,  with  frank  gray  eyes  glistening  with  excite- 
ment, with  two  red,  slightly  freckled  cheeks,  glowing  a 
little  under  his  eyes,  with  a  short  scarlet  upper  lip  turned 
back,  like  a  rose-leaf,  over  a  little  line  of  white  teeth,  as  she 
breathed  somewhat  hurriedly  in  her  nervous  excitement. 
He  saw  all  this  calmly,  quietly,  and,  save  for  the  natural 
uneasiness  of  a  shy,  reticent  man,  I  fear  without  a  quicken- 
ing of  his  pulse. 

"  I  knowed  it,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  heerd  ye  as  I  kem 
up." 

Miss  Nelly  was  furious  at  his  grammar,  his  dialect,  his 
coolness,  and  still  more  at  the  suspicion  that  he  was  an 
active  member  of  her  invisiWe  claque. 

'•'  Ah,"  she  said,  still  smiling,  "  then  I  think  I  heard 
you  "  — 

"  I  reckon  not,"  he  interrupted  gravely.  "  I  did  n't  stay 
long.  I  found  the  boys  hanging  round  the  house,  and  I 
allowed  at  first  I  'd  go  in  and  kinder  warn  you,  but  they 
promised  to  keep  still,  and  you  looked  so  comfortable  and 
wrapped  up  in  your  music  that  I  had  n't  the  heart  to  dis- 
turb you,  and  kem  away.  I  hope,"  he  added  earnestly, 
"  they  did  n't  let  on  ez  they  heerd  you.  They  ain't  a  bad 
lot  —  them  Blazin'  Star  boys  —  though  they  're  a  little  hard 
at  times.  But  they  'd  no  more  hurt  ye  then  they  would 
a  —  a  —  a  cat !  "  continued  Mr.  Hawkins,  blushing  with 
a  faint  apprehension  of  the  inelegance  of  his  simile. 

"  No  !  no ! "  said  Miss  Nelly,  feeling  suddenly  very 
angry  with  herself,  the  Fool,  and  the  entire  male  population 
of  Five  Forks.  "  No  !  I  have  behaved  foolishly,  I  suppose, 
—  and  if  they  had  it  would  have  served  me  right.  But  I 
only  wanted  to  apologize  to  you.  You  '11  find  everything  as 
you  left  it.  Good  day !  " 

She  turned  to  go.  Mr.  Hawkins  began  to  feel  embar- 
rassed, "  I  'd  have  asked  ye  to  sit  down,"  he  said,  finally, 


414  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

"  if  it  bed  been  a  place  fit  for  a  lady.  I  oughter  done  so, 
enny  way.  I  don't  know  what  kept  me  from  it.  But  I 
ain't  well,  Miss.  Times  I  get  a  sort  o'  dumb  ager  —  it's 
tbe  ditches,  I  think,  Miss  —  and  I  don't  seem  to  hev  my 
wits  about  me." 

Instantly  Miss  Arnot  was  all  sympathy,  —  her  quick 
woman's  heart  was  touched. 

"  Can  I  —  can  anything  be  done  ?  "  she  asked,  more 
timidly  than  she  had  before  spoken. 

"  No  !  —  not  onless  ye  remember  suthin'  about  these 
pills."  He  exhibited  a  box  containing  about  half  a  dozen. 
"  I  forget  the  direction  —  I  don't  seem  to  remember  much, 
any  way,  these  times  —  they  're  '  Jones'  Vegetable  Com- 
pound.' If  ye  've  ever  took  'em  ye  '11  remember  whether 
the  reg'lar  dose  is  eight.  They  ain't  but  six  here.  But 
perhaps  ye  never  tuk  any,"  he  added  deprecatingly. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Nelly,  curtly.  She  had  usually  a  keen 
sense  of  the  ludicrous,  but  somehow  Mr.  Hawkins'  eccen- 
tricity only  pained  her. 

"  WiV  vou  let  me  see  you  to  the  foot  of  the  hill  ?  "  he 
said  again,  after  another  embarrassing  pause. 

Miss  Arnot  felt  instantly  that  such  an  act  would  con- 
done her  trespass  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  She  might 
meet  some  of  her  invisible  admirers,  —  or  even  her  compan- 
ions, —  and,  with  all  her  erratic  impulses,  she  was  never- 
theless a  woman,  and  did  not  entirely  despise  the  verdict  of 
conventionality.  She  smiled  sweetly  and  assented,  and  in 
another  moment  the  two  were  lost  in  the  shadows  of  the 
wood. 

Like  many  other  apparently  trivial  acts  in  an  uneventful 
life,  it  was  decisive.  As  she  expected,  she  met  two  or 
three  of  her  late  applauders,  whom,  she  fancied,  looked 
sheepish  and  embarrassed  ;  she  met  also  her  companions 
looking  for  her  in  some  alarm,  who  really  appeared  aston- 
ished at  her  escort,  and,  she  fancied,  a  trifle  envious  of  her 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  415 

evident  success.  I  fear  that  Miss  Arnot,  in  response  to 
their  anxious  inquiries,  did  not  state  entirely  the  truth,  but, 
without  actual  assertion,  led  them  to  believe  that  she  had 
at  a  very  early  stage  of  the  proceeding  completely  subju- 
gated this  weak-minded  giant,  and  had  brought  him  trium- 
phantly to  her  feet.  From  telling  this  story  two  or  three 
times,  she  got  finally  to  believing  that  she  had  some  founda- 
tion for  it ;  then  to  a  vague  sort  of  desire  that  it  would 
eventually  prove  to  be  true,  and  then  to  an  equally  vague 
yearning  to  hasten  that  consummation.  That  it  would 
redound  to  any  satisfaction  of  the  Fool  she  did  not  stop  to 
doubt.  That  it  would  cure  him  of  his  folly  she  was  quite 
confident.  Indeed,  there  are  very  few  of  us  —  men  or 
women  —  who  do  not  believe  that  even  a  hopeless  love  for 
ourselves  is  more  conducive  to  the  salvation  of  the  lover 
than  a  requited  affection  for  another. 

The  criticism  of  Five  Forks  was,  as  the  reader  may 
imagine,  swift  and  conclusive.  When  it  was  found  out  that 
Miss  Arnot  was  not  "  the  Hag  "  masquerading  as  a  young 
and  pretty  girl,  to  the  ultimate  deception  of  Five  Forks  in 
general  and  the  Fool  in  particular,  it-  was  decided  at  once 
that  nothing  but  the  speedy  union  of  the  Fool  and  the 
"pretty  school-marm"  was  consistent  with  ordinary  com 
mon  sense.  The  singular  good  fortune  of  Hawkins  was 
quite  in  accordance  with  the  theory  of  his  luck  as  pro- 
pounded by  the  camp.  That  after  "  the  Hag  "  failed  to 
make  her  appearance  he  should  "  strike  a  lead  "  in  his  own 
house,  without  the  trouble  of  "  prospectin',"  seemed  to 
these  casuists  as  a  wonderful  but  inevitable  law.  To  add 
to  these  fateful  probabilities,  Miss  Arnot  fell  and  sprained 
her  ankle  in  the  ascent  of  Mount  Lincoln,  and  was  confined 
for  some  weeks  to  the  hotel  after  her  companions  had  de- 
parted. During  this  period  Hawkins  was  civilly  but  gro- 
tesquely attentive.  When,  after  a  reasonable  time  had 
elapsed,  there  still  appeared  to  be  no  immediate  prospect  of 


416  THF   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

the  occupancy  of  the  new  house,  public  opinion  experienced 
a  singular  change  in  regard  to  its  theories  of  Mr.  Hawkins' 
conduct.  "  The  Hag  "  was  looked  upon  as  a  saint-like  and 
long-suffering  martyr  to  the  weaknesses  and  inconsistency 
of  the  Fool.  That,  after  erecting  this  new  house  at  her 
request,  he  had  suddenly  "  gone  back  "  on  her ;  that  his 
celibacy  was  the  result  of  a  long  habit  of  weak  proposal  and 
subsequent  shameless  rejection,  and  that  he  was  now  trying 
his  hand  on  the  helpless  school-marm,  —  was  perfectly  plain 
to  Five  Forks.  That  he  should  be  frustrated  in  his 
attempts  at  any  cost  was  equally  plain.  Miss  Nelly  sud- 
denly found  herself  invested  with  a  rude  chivalry  that 
would  have  been  amusing  had  it  not  been  at  times  embarrass- 
ing ;  that  would  have  been  impertinent  but  for  the  almost 
superstitious  respect  with  which  it  was  proffered.  Every 
day  somebody  from  Five  Forks  rode  out  to  inquire  the 
health  of  the  fair  patient.  "  Hez  Hawkins  bin  over  yer 
to-day  ?  "  queried  Tom  Flynn,  with  artful  ease  and  in- 
difference as  he  leaned  over  Miss  Nelly's  easy-chair  on 
the  veranda.  Miss  Nelly,  with  a  faint  pink  flush  on  her 
cheek,  was  constrained  to  answer  "  No."  "  Well,  he  sorter 
sprained  his  foot  agin  a  rock  yesterday,"  continued  Flynn, 
with  shameless  untruthfulness.  "  You  mils'  n't  think  any- 
thing o'  that,  Miss  Arnot.  He  '11  be  over  yer  to-morrer, 
and  meantime  he  told  me  to  hand  this  yer  bookay  with 
regards,  and  this  yer  specimen  !  "  And  Mr.  Flynn  laid 
down  the  flowers  he  had  picked  en  route,  against  such 
an  emergency,  and  presented  respectfully  a  piece  of  quartz 
and  gold  which  he  had  taken  that  morning  from  his  own 
sluice-box.  "  You  mils'  n't  mind  Hawkins'  ways,  Miss 
Nelly,"  said  another  sympathizing  miner.  "  There  ain't  a 
better  man  in  camp  than  that  theer  Cy  Hawkins  !  —  but 
he  don't  understand  the  ways  o'  the  world  with  wimen. 
He  has  n't  mixed  as  much  with  society  as  the  rest  of  us," 
he  added,  with  an  elaborate  Chesterfieldian  ease  of  manner. 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  417 

"  but  he  means  well."  Meanwhile  a  few  other  sympa- 
thetic tunnel-men  were  impressing  upon  Mr.  Hawkins  tho 
necessity  of  the  greatest  attention  to  the  invalid.  "  It 
won't  do,  Hawkins,"  they  explained,  "to  let  that  there 
gal  go  back  to  San  Francisco  and  say  that  when  she  was 
sick  and  alone,  the  only  man  in  Five  Forks  under  whose 

roof  she  had  rested,  and  at  whose  table  she  had  sat " 

this  was  considered  a  natural  but  pardonable  exaggeration 
of  rhetoric  —  "  ever  threw  off  on  her  ;  and  it  shan't  be  done. 
It  ain't  the  square  thing  to  Five  Forks."  And  then  the 
Fool  would  rush  away  to  the  valley,  and  be  received  by 
Miss  Nelly  with  a  certain  reserve  of  manner  that  finally 
disappeared  in  a  flush  of  color,  some  increased  vivacity,  and 
a  pardonable  coquetry.  And  so  the  days  passed ;  Miss 
Nelly  grew  better  in  health  and  more  troubled  in  mind, 
and  Mr.  Hawkins  became  more  and  more  embarrassed,  and 
Five  Forks  smiled  and  rubbed  its  hands,  and  waited  for  the 
approaching  denouement.  And  then  it  came.  But  not 
perhaps  in  the  manner  that  Five  Forks  had  imagined. 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  in  July  that  a  party  of  Eastern 
tourists  rode  into  Five  Forks.  They  had  just  "  done  "  the 
Valley  of  Big  Things,  and,  there  being  one  or  two  Eastern 
capitalists  among  the  party,  it  was  deemed  advisable  that 
a  proper  knowledge  of  the  practical  mining  resources  of 
California  should  be  added  to  their  experience  of  the 
merely  picturesque  in  Nature.  Thus  far  everything  had 
been  satisfactory ;  the  amount  of  water  which  passed  over 
the  Fall  was  large,  owing  to  a  backward  season ;  some 
snow  still  remained  in  the  canons  near  the  highest  peaks  ; 
they  had  ridden  round  one  of  the  biggest  trees,  and  through 
the  prostrate  trunk  of  another.  To  say  that  they  were 
delighted  is  to  express  feebly  the  enthusiasm  of  these 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  drunk  with  the  champagny  hospi- 
tality of  their  entertainers,  the  utter  novelty  of  scene,  and 
the  dry,  exhilarating  air  of  the  valley.  One  cr  two  had 


418  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

already  expressed  themselves  ready  to  live  and  die  there ; 
another  had  written  a  glowing  account  to  the  Eastern  pros*. 
depreciating  all  other  scenery  in  Europe  and  America ;  and 
under  these  circumstances  it  was  reasonably  expected  that 
Five  Forks  \Tould  do  its  duty,  and  equally  impress  the 
stranger  after  its  own  fashion. 

Letters  to  this  effect  were  sent  from  San  Francisco  by 
prominent  capitalists  there,  and,  under  the  able  superin- 
tendence of  one  of  their  agents,  the  visitors  were  taken 
in  hand,  shown  "  what  was  to  be  seen,"  carefully  restrained 
from  observing  what  ought  not  to  be  visible,  and  so  kept 
in  a  blissful  and  enthusiastic  condition.  And  so  the  grave- 
yard of  Five  Forks,  in  which  but  two  of  the  occupants  had 
died  natural  deaths,  the  dreary,  ragged  cabins  on  the  hill- 
sides, with  their  sad-eyed,  cynical,  broken-spirited  occu- 
pants, toiling  on,  day  by  day,  for  a  miserable  pittance  and 
a  fare  that  a  self-respecting  Eastern  mechanic  would  have 
scornfully  rejected,  were  not  a  part  of  the  Eastern  visitors' 
recollection.  But  the  hoisting  works  and  machinery  of  the 
"  Blazing  Star  Tunnel  Company  "  was,  —  the  Blazing  Star 
Tunnel  Company,  whose  "  gentlemanly  Superintendent " 
had  received  private  information  from  San  Francisco  to  do 
the  "  proper  thing  "  for  the  party.  Wherefore  the  valua- 
ble heaps  of  ore  in  the  company's  works  were  shown,  the 
oblong  bars  of  gold  —  ready  for  shipment  —  were  playfully 
offered  to  the  ladies  who  could  lift  and  carry  them  away 
unaided,  and  even  the  tunnel  itself,  gloomy,  fateful,  and 
peculiar,  was  shown*  as  part  of  the  experience ;  and,  in  the 
noble  language  of  one  correspondent,  "  the  wealth  of  Five 
Forks  and  the  peculiar  inducements  that  it  offered  to 
Eastern  capitalists "  were  established  beyond  a  doiibt. 
And  then  occurred  a  little  incident  which,  as  an  unbiased 
spectator,  I  am  free  to  say  offered  no  inducements  to  any- 
body whatever,  but  which,  for  its  bearing  upon  the  central 
figure  of  this  veracious  chronicle,  I  cannot  pass  over. 


THE   FOOL   OF  FIVE   FORKS  419 

It  had  become  apparent  to  one  or  two  more  practical 
and  sober-minded  in  the  party  that  certain  portions  of  the 
"  Blazing  Star  "  Tunnel  —  (owing,  perhaps,  to  the  exigen- 
cies of  a  nattering  annual  dividend)  —  were  economically 
and  imperfectly  "  shored  "  and  supported,  and  were  conse- 
quently unsafe,  insecure,  and  to  be  avoided.  Nevertheless, 
at  a  time  when  champagne  corks  were  popping  in  dark 
corners,  and  enthusiastic  voices  and  happy  laughter  rang 
through  the  half-lighted  levels  and  galleries,  there  came 
a  sudden  and  mysterious  silence.  A  few  lights  dashed 
swiftly  by  in  the  direction  of  a  distant  part  of  the  gallery, 
and  then  there  was  a  sudden  sharp  issuing  of  orders  and 
a  dull,  ominous  rumble.  Some  of-  the  visitors  turned  pale 
—  one  woman  fainted  ! 

Something  had  happened.  What  ?  "  Nothing  "  —  the 
speaker  is  fluent  but  uneasy  —  "  one  of  the  gentlemen  in 
trying  to  dislodge  a  '  specimen  '  from  the  wall  had  knocked 
away  a  support.  There  had  been  a  'cave-'  —  the  gentle- 
man was  caught  and  buried  below  his  shoulders.  It  was 
all  right  —  they  'd  get  him  out  in  a  moment  —  only  it 
required  great  care  to  keep  from  extending  the  l  cave.' 
Didn't  know  his  name  —  it  was  that  little  man  —  the  hus- 
band of  that  lively  lady  with  the  black  eyes.  Eh !  Hullo 
there  !  Stop  her.  For  God's  sake  !  —  not  that  way  ! 
She  '11  fall  from  that  shaft.  She  '11  be  killed  !  " 

But  the  lively  lady  was  already  gone.  With  staring 
black  eyes,  imploringly  trying  to  pierce  the  gloom,  with 
hands  and  feet  that  sought  to  batter  and  break  down  the 
thick  darkness,  with  incoherent  cries  and  supplications, 
following  the  moving  of  ignis  fatuus  lights  ahead,  she  ran 
and  ran  swiftly  !  Ran  over  treacherous  foundations,  ran 
by  yawning  gulfs,  ran  past  branching  galleries  and  arches; 
ran  wildly,  ran  despairingly,  ran  blindly,  and  at  last  ran 
into  the  arms  of  the  Fool  of  Five  Forks. 

In  an  instant  she  caught  at  his  hand.     "  Oh,  save  him !  " 


420  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FOKKS 

she  cried ;  "  you  belong  here  —  you  know  this  dreadful 
place ;  bring  me  to  him.  Tell  me  where  to  go  and  what 
to  do,  I  implore  you  !  Quick,  he  is  dying.  Come  ! " 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  cry, 
dropped  the  rope  and  crowbar  he  was  carrying,  and  reeled 
against  the  wall.  "  Annie !  "  he  gasped,  slowly,  "  is  it 
you  ?  " 

She  caught  at  both  his  hands,  brought  her  face  to  his 
with  staring  eyes,  murmured  "  Good  God,  Cyrus !  "  and 
sank  upon  her  knees  before  him. 

He  tried  to  disengage  the  hand  that  she  wrung  with 
passionate  entreaty. 

"  No,  no  !  Cyrus,  you  will  forgive  me  —  you  will  forget 
the  past !  God  has  sent  you  here  to-day.  You  will  come 
.with  me.  You  will  —  you  must  —  save  him  !  " 

"  Save  who  ?  "  cried  Cyrus  hoarsely. 

"  My  husband  !  " 

The  blow  was  so  direct  —  so  strong  and  overwhelming  — 
that  even  through  her  own  stronger  and  more  selfish  absorp- 
tion she  saw  it  in  the  face  of  the  man,  and  pitied  him. 

"  I  thought  —  you  —  knew  —  it  !  "  she  faltered.  He  did 
not  speak,  but  looked  at  her  with  fixer?,  dumb  eyes.  And 
then  the  sound  of  distant  voices  and  hurrying  feet  started 
her  again  into  passionate  life.  She  once  more  caught  his 
hand. 

u  O  Cyrus  !  hear  me  !  If  you  have  loved  me  through 
all  these  years,  you  will  not  fail  me  now.  You  must  save 
him  !  You  can  !  You  are  brave  and  strong  —  you  always 
were,  Cyrus  !  You  will  save  him,  Cyrus,  for  my  sake  —  for 
the  sake  of  your  love  for  me !  You  will  —  I  know  it ! 
God  bless  you  !  " 

She  rose  as  if  to  follow  him,  but  at  a  gesture  of  com- 
mand she  stood  still.  He  picked  up  the  rope  and  crowbar 
slowly,  and  in  a  dazed,  blinded  way  that,  in  her  agony  of 
impatience  and  alarm,  seemed  protracted  to  cruel  infinity. 


THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS  421 

Then  he  turned,  and,  raising  her  hand  to  his  lips,  he  kissed 
it  slowly,  looked  at  her  again  —  and  the  next  moment  was 
gone. 

He  did  not  return.  For  at  the  end  of  the  next  half 
hour,  when  they  laid  before  her  the  half-conscious  breath- 
ing body  of  her  husband,  safe  and  unharmed  but  for 
exhaustion  and  some  slight  bruises,  she  learned  that  the 
worst  fears  of  the  workmen  had  been  realized.  In  releas- 
ing him  a  second  "  cave  "  had  taken  place.  They  had  barely 
time  to  snatch  away  the  helpless  body  of  her  husband 
before  the  strong  frame  of  his  rescuer,  Cyrus  Hawkins,  was 
struck  and  smitten  down  in  his  place. 

For  two  hours  he  lay  there,  crushed  and  broken-limbed, 
with  a  heavy  beam  lying  across  his  breast,  in  sight  of  all, 
conscious  and  patient.  For  two  hours  they  had  labored 
around  him,  wildly,  despairingly,  hopefully,  with  the  wills 
of  gods  and  the  strength  of  giants,  and  at  the  end  of  that 
time  they  came  to  an  upright  timber,  which  rested  its  base 
upon  the  beam.  There  was  a  cry  for  axes,  and  one  was 
already  swinging  in  the  air,  when  the  dying  man  called  to 
them  feebly  :  — 

"  Don't  cut  that  upright !  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  It  will  -bring  down  the  whole  gallery  with  it." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  It 's  one  of  the  foundations  of  my  house." 

The  axe  fell  from  the  workman's  hand,  and  with  a 
blanched  face  he  turned  to  his  fellows.  It  was  too  true. 
They  were  in  the  uppermost  gallery,  and  the  "  cave  "  had 
taken  place  directly  below  the  new  house.  After  a  pause 
the  Fool  spoke  again  more  feebly. 

"  The  lady  !  —  quick." 

They  brought  her  —  a  Avretched,  fainting  creature,  with 
pallid  face  and  streaming  eyes  —  and  fell  back  as  she  bent 
tier  face  above  him. 


422  THE   FOOL   OF   FIVE   FORKS 

"  It  was  built  for  you,  Annie,  darling,"  he  said  in  a  hup 
ried  whisper,  "  and  has  been  waiting  up  there  for  you  and 
me  all  these  long  days.  It 's  deeded  to  you,  Annie,  and 
you  must  —  live  there  —  with  him  !  He  will  not  mind 
that  I  shall  be  always  near  you  —  for  it  stands  above  —  my 
grave  !  " 

And  he  was  right.  In  a  few  minutes  later,  when  he  had 
passed  away,  they  did  not  move  him,  but  sat  by  his  body 
all  night  with  a  torch  at  his  feet  and  head.  And  the  next 
day  they  walled  up  the  gallery  as  a  vault,  but  they  put  no 
mark  or  any  sign  thereon,  trusting  rather  to  the  monument 
that,  bright  and  cheerful,  rose  above  him  in  the  sunlight  of 
the  hill.  For  they  said  :  "  This  is  not  an  evidence  of  death 
and  gloom  and  sorrow,  as  are  other  monuments,  but  is  a 
sign  of  Life  and  Light  and  Hope,  wherefore  shall  all  mei» 
know  that  he  who  lies  under  it  —  is  a  Fool !  " 


HE   LOOKED  AT  HER  WITH   FIXED,  DUMB  EYES 


THE  MAN  FKOM  SOLANO 

HE  came  toward  me  out  of  an  opera  lobby,  between  the 
acts,  —  a  figure  as  remarkable  as  anything  in  the  perform- 
ance. His  clothes,  no  two  articles  of  which  were  of  the 
same  color,  had  the  appearance  of  having  been  purchased 
and  put  on  only  an  hour  or  two  before,  —  a  fact  more 
directly  established  by  the  clothes-dealer's  ticket  which  still 
adhered  to  his  coat-collar,  giving  the  number,  size,  and  gen- 
eral dimensions  of  that  garment  somewhat  obtrusively  to 
an  uninterested  public.  His  trousers  had  a  straight  line 
down  each  leg,  as  if  he  had  been  born  flat  but  had  since 
developed  ;  and  there  was  another  crease  down  his  back, 
like  those  figures  children  cut  out  of  folded  paper.  I  may 
add  that  there  was  no  consciousness  of  this  in  his  face, 
which  was  good-natured,  and,  but  for  a  certain  squareness 
in  the  angle  of  his  lower  jaw,  utterly  uninteresting  and 
commonplace. 

"  You  disremember  me,"  he  said  briefly,  as  he  extended 
his  hand,  "  but  I  'm  from  Solano,  in  Californy.  I  met  you 
there  in  the  spring  of  '57.  I  was  tendin'  sheep,  and  you 
was  burnin'  charcoal." 

There  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of  any  intentional  rude- 
ness in  the  reminder.  It  was  simply  a  statement  of  fact, 
and  as  such  to  be  accepted. 

"  What  I  hailed  ye  for  was  only  this,"  he  said,  after  I 
had  shaken  hands  with  him.  "  I  saw  you  a  minnit  ago 
standin'  over  in  yon  box,  chirpin'  with  a  lady,  —  a  young 
lady,  peart  and  pretty.  Might  you  be  telling  ma  her 
name  ?  " 


424  THE    MAN   FROM    SOLANO 

I  gave  him  the  name  of  a  certain  noted  belle  of  a  neigh- 
boring  city,  who  had  lately  stirred  the  hearts  of  themetrop-1 
olis,  and  who  was  especially  admired  by  the  brilliant  and 
fascinating  young  Dashboard,  who  stood  beside  me. 

The  Man  from  Solano  mused  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said,  "  Thet  's  so  !  thet  's  the  name  !  It 's  the  same  gal !  " 

"  You  have  met  her,  then  ?  "  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Ye-es,"  he  responded  slowly  ;  "  I  met  her  about  fower 
months  ago.  She  'd  bin  makin'  a  tour  of  Californy  with 
some  friends,  and  I  first  saw  her  aboard  the  cars  this  side 
of  Eeno.  She  lost  her  baggage  checks,  and  I  found  them 
on  the  floor  and  gave  'em  back  to  her,  and  she  thanked  me. 
I  reckon  now  it  would  be  about  the  square  thing  to  go  over 
thar  and  sorter  recognize  her."  He  stopped  a  moment,  and 
looked  at  us  inquiringly. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  struck  in  the  brilliant  and  fascinating 
young  Dashboard,  "  if  your  hesitation  proceeds  from  any 
doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  your  attire,  I  beg  you  to  dis- 
miss it  from  your  mind  at  once.  The  tyranny  of  custom, 
it  is  true,  compels  your  friend  and  myself  to  dress  pecu- 
liarly, but  I  assure  you  nothing  could  be  finer  than  the  way 
that  the  olive  green  of  your  coat  melts  in  the  delicate  yellow 
of  your  cravat,  or  the  pearl  gray  of  your  trousers  blends 
with  the  bright  blue  of  your  waistcoat,  and  lends  additional 
brilliancy  to  that  massive  oroid  watch-chain  which  you 


To  my  surprise,  the  Man  from  Solano  did  not  strike  him. 
He  looked  at  the  ironical  Dashboard  with  grave  earnest- 
ness, and  then  said  quietly  :  — 

"Then  I  reckon  you  wouldn't  mind  showin'  me  in 
thar  ?  " 

Dashboard  was,  I  admit,  a  little  staggered  at  this.  But 
he  recovered  himself,  and,  bowing  ironically,  led  the  way  to 
the  box.  I  followed  him  and  the  Man  from  Solano. 

Now  th'e  belle  in  question  happened  to  be  a  gentlewoman 


THE   MAN   FROM   SOLANO  425 

• —  descended  from  gentlewomen,  —  and  after  Dashboard's 
ironical  introduction,  in  which  the  Man  from  Solano  was 
not  spared,  she  comprehended  the  situation  instantly.  To 
Dashboard's  surprise  she  drew  a  chair  to  her  side,  made  the 
Man  from  Solano  sit  down,  quietly  turned  her  back  on 
Dashboard,  and,  in  full  view  of  the  brilliant  audience  and 
the  focus  of  a  hundred  lorgnettes,  entered  into  conversation 
with  him. 

Here,  for  the  sake  of  romance,  I  should  like  to  say  he 
became  animated,  and  exhibited  some  trait  of»- excellence, — 
some  rare  wit  or  solid  sense.  But  the  fact  is  he  was  dull 
and  stupid  to  the  last  degree.  He  persisted  in  keeping  the 
conversation  upon  the  subject  of  the  lost  baggage-checks, 
and  every  bright  attempt  of  the  lady  to  divert  him  failed 
signally.  At  last,  to  everybody's  relief,  he  rose,  and,  leaning 
over  her  chair,  said  :  — 

•'  I  calklate  to  stop  over  here  some  time,  miss,  and  you 
and  me  bein'  sorter  strangers  here,  maybe  when  there  's  any 
show  like  this  goin'  on  you  '11  let  me  "  — 

Miss  X.  said  somewhat  hastily  that  the  multiplicity  of 
her'  engagements  and  the  brief  limit  of  her  stay  in  New 
York  she  feared  would,  etc.,  etc.  The  two  other  ladies  had 
their  handkerchiefs  over  their  mouths,  and  were  staring 
intently  on  the  stage,  when  the  Man  from  Solano  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  Then,  maybe,  miss,  whenever  there  is  a  show  goin'  on 
that  you'll  attend,  you'll  just  drop  me  word  to  Earle's 
Hotel,  to  this  yer  address,"  and  he  pulled  from  his  pocket 
a  dozen  well-worn  letters,  and,  taking  the  buff  envelope 
from  one,  handed  it  to  her  with  something  like  a  bow. 

"Certainly,"  broke  in  the  facetious  Dashboard;  "  Miss 
X.  goes  to  the  Charity  Ball  to-morrow  night.  The  tickets 
are  but  a  trifle  to  an  opulent  Californian,  and  a  man  of 
your  evident  means,  and  the  object  a  worthy  one  You 
mil,  no  doubt,  easily  secure  an  invitation." 


426  THE    MAN   FROM   SOLANO 

Miss  X.  raised  her  handsome  eyes  for  a  moment  to 
Dashboard.  "  By  all  means,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  Man 
from  Solano ;  "  and  as  Mr.  Dashboard  is  one  of  the  man- 
agers, and  you  are  a  stranger,  he  will,  of  course,  send  you 
a  complimentary  ticket.  I  have  known  Mr.  Dashboard 
long  enough  to  know  that  he  is  invariably  courteous  to 
Grangers  and  a  gentleman."  She  settled  herself  in  her 
chair  again  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  stage. 

The  Man  from  Solano  thanked  the  Man  of  New  York3 
and  then,  after  shaking  hands  with  everybody  in  the  box, 
turned  to  go.  When  he  had  reached  the  door  he  looked 
back  to  Miss  X.  and  said  :  — 

"  It  was  one  of  the  queerest  things  in  the  world,  miss, 
that  my  findin'  them  checks  "  — 

But  the  curtain  had  just  then  risen  on  the  garden  scene 
in  "  Faust,"  and  Miss  X.  was  absorbed.  The  Man  from 
Solano  carefully  shut  the  box  door  and  retired.  I  followed 
him.  He  was  silent  until  he  reached  the  lobby,  and  then 
he  said,  as  if  renewing  a  previous  conversation,  "  She  is  a 
mighty  peart  gal,  —  that 's  so.  She  's  just  my  kind,  and 
will  make  a  stavin'  good  wife." 

I  thought  I  saw  danger  ahead  for  the  Man  from  Solano, 
so  I  hastened  to  tell  him  that  she  was  beset  by  attentions, 
that  she  could  have  her  pick  and  choice  of  the  best  of 
society,  and  finally,  that  she  was,  most  probably,  engaged 
to  Dashboard. 

"  That 's  so,"  he  said  quietly,  without  the  slightest  trace 
of  feeling.  "  It  would  be  mighty  queer  if  she  was  n't. 
But  I  reckon  I  '11  steer  down  to  the  ho-tel.  I  don't  care 
much  for  this  yellin'."  (He  was  alluding  to  a  cadenza  of 
that  famous  cantatrice,  Signora  Batti  Batti.)  "What's 
the  time  ?  " 

He  pulled  out  his  watch.  It  was  such  a  glaring  chain, 
BO  obviously  bogus,  that  my  eyes  were  fascinated  by  it. 
"  You  're  looking  at  that  watch,"  he  said ;  "  it  'a  purty  to 


THE   MAN   FROM   SOLAXO  42? 

look  at,  but  she  don't  go  worth  a  cent.  And  yet  her  price 
was  $125  gold.  I  gobbled  her  up  in  Chatham  Street  day 
before  yesterday,  where  they  were  selling  'em  very  cheap 
at  auction." 

"  You  have  been  outrageously  swindled,"  I  said  indig- 
lantly.  "  Watch  and  chain  are  not  worth  twenty  dollars." 

"  Are  they  worth  fifteen  ?  "  he  asked  gravely. 

"  Possibly." 

"  Then  I  reckon  it 's  a  fair  trade.  Ye  see,  I  told  'em  I 
was  a  Californian  from  Solano,  and  had  n't  anything  about 
me  of  greenbacks.  I  had  three  slugs  with  me.  Ye  remem- 
ber them  slugs  ?  "  (I  did  ;  the  "  slug  "  was  a  "  token  " 
issued  in  the  early  days,  —  a  hexagonal  piece  of  gold  a 
little  over  twice  the  size  of  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece,  — 
worth  and  accepted  for  fifty  dollars.) 

"  Well,  I  handed  them  that,  and  they  handed  me  the 
watch.  You  see  them  slugs  I  had  made  myself  outer  brass 
filings  and  iron  pyrites,  and  used  to  slap  'em  down  on  the 
boys  for  a  bluff  in  a  game  of  draw  poker.  You  see,  not 
being  reg'lar  gov'ment  money,  it  was  n't  counterfeiting.  I 
reckon  they  cost  me,  counting  time  and  anxiety,  about 
fifteen  dollars.  So,  if  this  yer  watch  is  worth  that,  it's 
about  a  square  game,  ain't  it  ?  " 

I  began  to  understand  the  Man  from  Solano,  and  said  it 
was.  He  returned  his  watch  to  his  pocket,  toyed  playfully 
with  the  chain,  and  remarked,  "  Kinder  makes  a  man  look 
fash'nable  and  wealthy,  don't  it  ?  " 

I  agreed  with  him.  "  But  what  do  you  intend  to  do 
here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  I  've  got  a  cash  capital  of  nigh  on  seven  hundred 
dollars.  I  guess  until  I  get  into  reg'lar  business  I  '11 
skirmish  round  Wall  Street,  and  sorter  lay  low."  I  was 
about  to  give  him  a  few  words  of  warning,  but  I  remem- 
bered his  watch  and  desisted.  We  shook  hands  and 
parted. 


428  THE   MAN   FROM    SOLANO 

A  few  days  after  I  met  him  on  Broadway  He  was 
attired  in  another  new  suit,  but  I  think  I  saw  a  slight  im- 
provement in  his  general  appearance.  Only  five  distinct 
colors  were  visihle  in  his  attire.  But  this,  I  had  reason  to 
believe  afterwards,  was  accidental. 

Tasked  him  if  he  had  been  to  the  ball.  He  said  he  had, 
"  That  gal,  and  a  mighty  peart  gal  she  was  too,  was  there, 
but  she  sorter  fought  shy  of  me.  I  got  this  new  suit  to  gc 
in,  but  those  waiters  sorter  run  me  into  a  private  box,  and 
I  did  n't  get  much  chance  to  con  tinner  our  talk  about  them 
checks.  But  that  young  feller,  Dashboard,  was  mighty 
perlite.  He  brought  lots  of  fellers  and  young  worn  en 
round  to  the  box  to  see  me,  and  he  made  up  a  party  that 
night  to  take  me  round  Wall  Street  and  in  them  Stock 
Boards.  And  the  next  day  he  called  for  me,  and  took  me, 
and  I  invested  about  five  hundred  dollars  in  them  stocks,  — 
maybe  more.  You  see,  we  sorter  swopped  stocks.  You 
know  I  had  ten  shares  in  the  Peacock  Copper  Mine,  that 
you  was  once  secretary  of." 

"  But  those  shares  are  riot  worth  a  cent.  The  whole 
thing  exploded  ten  years  ago." 

"  That 's  so,  maybe  ;  you  say  so.  But  then  I  did  n't 
know  anything  more  about  Communipaw  Central,  or  the 
Naphtha  Gaslight  Company,  and  so  I  thought  it  was  a  square 
game.  Only  I  realized  on  the  stocks  I  bought,  and  I  kem 
up  outer  Wall  Street  about  four  hundred  dollars  better. 
You  see  it  was  a  sorter  risk,  after  all,  for  them  Peacock 
stocks  might  come  up  !  " 

I  looked  into  his  face  :  it  was  immeasurably  serene  and 
commonplace.  I  began  to  be  a  little  afraid  of  the  man,  or, 
rather,  of  my  want  of  judgment  of  the  man  ;  and  after  a 
few  words  we  shook  hands  and  parted. 

It  was  some  months  before  I  again  saw  the  Man  from 
Solano.  When  I  did,  I  found  that  he  had  actually  become 
a  member  of  the  Stock  Board,  and  had  a  little  office  on 


THE   MAN   FROM   SOLANO  429 

Broad  Street,  where  he  transacted  a  fair  business.  My 
remembrance  going  back  to  the  first  night  I  met  him,  I 
inquired  if  he  had  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Miss  X. 

"  I  heerd  that  she  was  in  Newport  this  summer,  and  I 
ran  down  there  fur  a  week." 

"  And  you  talked  with  her  about  the  baggage-checks  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said  seriously  ;  "  she  gave  me  a  commission 
to  buy  some  stocks  for  her.  You  see,  I  guess  them  fash'- 
nable  fellers  sorter  got  to  runnin'  her  about  me,  and  so  she 
put  our  acquaintance  on  a  square  business  footing.  I  tell 
you,  she  's  a  right  peart  gal.  Did  ye  hear  of  the  accident 
that  happened  to  her  ?  " 

I  had  not. 

'.'  Well,  you  see,  she  was  out  yachting,  and  I  managed 
through  one  of  those  fellers  to  get  an  invite,  too.  The 
whole  thing  was  got  up  by  a  man  that  they  say  is  going  to 
marry  her.  Well,  one  afternoon  the  boom  swings  round  in 
a  little  squall  and  knocks  her  overboard.  There  was  an 
awful  excitement,  —  you  've  heard  about  it,  maybe  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  But  I  saw  it  all  with  a  romancer's  instinct  in 
a  flash  of  poetry  !  This  poor  fellow,  debarred  through  un- 
couthness  from  expressing  his  affection  for  her,  had  at  last 
foxind  his  fitting  opportunity.  He  had  — 

"  Thar  was  an  awful  row,"  he  went  on.  "  I  ran  out  on 
the  taffrail,  and  there  a  dozen  yards  away  was  that  purty 
creature,  that  peart  gal,  and  —  I "  — 

"  You  jumped  for  her,"  I  said  hastily. 

"  No  !  "  he  said  gravely.  "  I  let  the  other  man  do  the 
jumping.  I  sorter  looked  on." 

I  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  No,"  he  went  on  seriously.  "  He  was  the  man  who 
jumped;  that  was  just  then  his  'put,'  —  his  line  of  busi- 
ness. You  see  if  I  had  waltzed  over  the  side  of  that  ship, 
and  cavoorted  in,  and  flummuxed  round,  and  finally  flopped 
to  the  bottom,  that  other  man  would  have  jumped  nateral 


430  THE    MAN   FROM    SOLANO 

like  and  saved  her ;  and  ez  he  was  going  to  marry  her  any 
way,  I  don't  exactly  see  where  I'd  hev  been  represented  in 
the  transaction.  But  don't  you  see,  ef,  after  he  'd  jumped 
and  had  n't  got  her,  he  'd  gone  down  himself,  I  'd  hev  had 
the  next  best  chance,  and  the  advantage  of  heving  him 
outer  the  way.  You  see,  you  don't  understand  me,  —  I 
don't  think  you  did  in  Californy." 

"  Then  he  did  save  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  Don't  you  see,  she  was  all  right.  If  he  'd 
missed  her,  I  'd  have  chipped  in.  Thar  war  n't  no  sense  in 
my  doing  his  duty  onless  he  failed." 

Somehow  the  story  got  out.  The  Man  from  Solano  as  a 
butt  became  more  popular  than  ever,  and  of  course  received 
invitations  to  burlesque  receptions,  and  naturally  met  a 
great  many  people  whom  otherwise  he  would  not  have  seen. 
It  was  observed  also  that  his  seven  hundred  dollars  were 
steadily  growing,  and  that  he  seemed  to  be  getting  on  in 
his  business.  Certain  Californian  stocks  which  I  had  seep 
quietly  interred  in  the  old  days  in  the  tombs  of  then 
fathers  were  magically  revived  ;  and  I  remember,  as  one 
who  has  seen  a  ghost,  to  have  been  shocked  as  I  looked 
over  the  quotations,  c  ne  morning,  to  see  the  ghastly  face 
of  the  "  Dead  Beach  Mining  Co.,"  rouged  and  plastered, 
looking  out  from  the  columns  of  the  morning  paper.  At 
last  a  few  people  began  to  respect,  or  suspect,  the  Man 
from  Solano.  At  last  suspicion  culminated  with  this  inci- 
dent :  — 

He  had  long  expressed  a  wish  to  belong  to  a  certain 
"  fash'nable  "  club,  and  with  a  view  of  burlesque  he  was 
invited  to  visit  the  club,  where  a  series  of  ridiculous  enter- 
tainments were  given  him,  winding  up  with  a  card  party. 
As  I  passed  the  steps  of  the  club-house  early  next  morning, 
I  overheard  two  or  three  members  talking  excitedly. 

"  He  cleaned  everybody  out."  —  "  Why,  he  must  have 
raked  in  nigh  on  $40,000." 


THE    MAN   FROM   SOLANO  431 

"  Who  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  Man  from  Solano." 

As  I  turned  away,  one  of  the  gentlemen,  a  victim,  noted 
for  his  sporting  propensities,  followed  me,  and,  laying  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder,  asked,  — 

"  Tell  me  fairly  now.  What  business  did  your  friend 
follow  in  California  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  shepherd." 

"  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  shepherd.  Tended  his  flocks  on  the  honey-scented 
hills  of  Solano." 

"  Well,  all  I  «an  say  is,  d — n  your  Californian  pasto- 
rals 1 » 


A   GHOST   OF  THE   SIERKAS 

IT  was  a  vast  silence  of  pines,  redolent  Avith  balsamic 
breath,  and  muffled  with  the  dry  dust  of  dead  bark  and 
matted  mosses.  Lying  on  our  backs,  we  looked  upward 
through  a  hundred  feet  of  clear,  unbroken  interval  to  the 
first  lateral  branches  that  formed  the  flat  canopy  above  us. 
Here  and  there  the  fierce  sun,  from  whose  active  persecution 
we  had  just  escaped,  searched  for  us  through  the  woods,  but 
its  keen  blade  was  diilled  and  turned  aside  by  intercostal 
boughs,  and  its  brightness  dissipated  in  nebulous  mists 
throughout  the  roofing  of  the  dim,  brown  aisles  around  us. 
We  were  in  another  atmosphere,  under  another  sky ;  indeed, 
in  another  world  than  the  dazzling  one  we  had  just  quitted. 
The  grave  silence  seemed  so  much  a  part  of  the  grateful 
coolness,  that  we  hesitated  to  speak,  and  for  some  moments 
lay  quietly  outstretched  on  the  pine  tassels  where  we  had  first 
thrown  ourselves.  Finally  a  voice  broke  the  silence  :  — 
"  Ask  the  old  Major  ;  he  knows  all  about  it !  " 
The  person  here  alluded  to  under  that  military  title  was 
myself.  I  hardly  need  explain  to  any  Californian  that  it  by 
no  means  followed  that  I  was  a  "  Major,"  or  that  I  wras 
"  old,"  or  that  T  knew  anything  about  "  it,"  or  indeed  what 
"  it "  referred  to.  The  whole  remark  was  merely  one  of 
the  usual  conventional  feelers  to  conversation,  —  a  kind  of 
social  preamble,  quite  common  to  our  slangy  camp  inter- 
course. Nevertheless,  as  I  was  always  known  as  the  Major, 
perhaps  for  no  better  reason  than  that  the  speaker,  an  old 
journalist,  was  always  called  Doctor,  I  recognized  the  fact 
so  far  as  to  kick  aside  an  intervening  saddle,  so  that  I  could 


A   GHOST   OF   THE   SIERRAS  433 

see  the  speaker's  face  on  a  level  with  my  own,  and  taid 
nothing. 

"  About  ghosts  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  after  a  pause,  which 
nobody  broke  or  was  expected  to  break.  "Ghosts,  sir  \ 
That 's  what  we  want  to  know.  What  are  we  doing  here  in 
this  blank  old  mausoleum  of  Calaveras  County,  if  it  is  n't. 
to  iind  out  something  about  'em,  eh  ?  " 

Nobody  replied. 

"  Thar 's  that  haunted  house  at  Cave  City.  Can't  be  more 
than  a  mile  or  two  away,  anyhow.  Used  to  be  just  off  the 
trail." 

A  dead  silence. 

The  Doctor  (addressing  space  generally)  :  "Yes,  sir;  it 
was  a  mighty  queer  story." 

Still  the  same  reposeful  indifference.  We  all  knew  the 
Doctor's  skill  as  a  raconteur  ;  we  all  knew  that  a  story  was 
coming,  and  we  all  knew  that  any  interruption  would  be 
fatal.  Time  and  time  again,  in  our  prospecting  experience, 
had  a  word  of  polite  encouragement,  a  rash  expression  of 
interest,  even  a  too  eager  attitude,  of  silent  expectancy, 
brought  the  Doctor  to  a  sudden  change  of  subject.  Time 
and  time  again  have  we  seen  the  unwary  stranger  stand 
amazed  and  bewildered  between  our  own  indifference  and 
the  sudden  termination  of  a  promising  anecdote,  through 
his  own  unlucky  interference.  So  we  said  nothing.  "  The 
Judge  "  —  another  instance  of  arbitrary  nomenclature  —  pre- 
tended to  sleep.  Jack  began  to  twist  a  ciyarrito.  Thorn- 
ton bit  off  the  ends  of  pine  needles  reflectively. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  continued  the  Doctor,  coolly  resting  the  back 
of  his  head  on  the  palms  of  his  hands,  "  it  was  rather 
curious.  All  except  the  murder.  That 's  what  gets  me, 
for  the  murder  had  no  new  points,  no  fancy  touches,  no 
sentiment,  no  mystery.  Was  just  one  of  the  old  style, 
'  sub-head  '  paragraphs.  Old-fashioned  miner  scrubs  along 
on  hardtack  and  beans,  and  saves  up  a  little  money  to  go 


434  A   GHOST   OF   THE    SIERRAS 

home  and  see  relations.  Old-fashioned!  assassin  sharpens 
up  knife,  old  style ;  loads  old  flint-lock,  brass-mounted 
pistols  ;  walks  in  on  old-fashioned  miner  one  dark  night, 
sends  him  home  to  his  relations  away  back  to  several 
generations,  and  walks  off  with  the  swag.  No  mystery 
there ;  nothing  to  clear  up ;  subsequent  revelations  only 
impertinence.  Nothing  for  any  ghost  to  do  —  who  meant 
business.  More  than  that,  over  forty  murders,  same  old 
kind,  committed  e.very  year  in  Calaveras,  and  no  spiritual 
post  obits  coming  due  every  anniversary  ;  no  assessments 
made  on  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  surviving  community. 
I  tell  you  what,  boys,  I  've  always  been  inclined  to  throw 
off  on  the  Cave  City  ghost  for  that  alone.  It 's  a  bad  pre- 
cedent, sir.  If  that  kind  o'  thing  is  going  to  obtain  in  the 
foot-hills,  we  '11  have  the  trails  full  of  chaps  formerly  knocked 
over  by  Mexicans  and  road  agents ;  every  little  camp  and 
grocery  will  have  stock  enough  on  hand  to  go  into  business, 
and  where  's  there  any  security  for  surviving  life  and  prop- 
erty, eh  ?  What 's  your  opinion,  Judge,  as  a  fair-minded 
legislator  ?  " 

Of  course  there  was  no  response.  Yet  it  was  part  of 
the  Doctor's  system  of  aggravation  to  become  discursive  at 
these  moments,  in  the  hope  of  interruption,  and  he  con- 
tinued for  some  moments  to  dwell  on  the  terrible  possibility 
of  a  state  of  affairs  in  which  a  gentleman  could  no  longer 
settle  a  dispute  with  an  enemy  without  being  subjected  to 
succeeding  spiritual  embarrassment.  But  all  this  digression 
fell  upon  apparently  inattentive  ears. 

"  Well,  sir,  after  the  murder,  the  cabin  stood  for  a  long 
time  deserted  and  tenantless.  Popular  opinion  was  against 
it.  One  day  a  ragged  prospector,  savage  with  hard  labor 
and  harder  luck,  came  to  the  camp,  looking  for  a  place  to 
live  and  a  chance  to  prospect.  After  the  boys  had  taken 
his  measure,  they  concluded  that,  he'd  already  tackled  so 
much  in  the  way  of  difficulties  that  a  ghost  more  or  less 


A   GHOST   OF   THE   SIERRAS  435 

would  n't  be  of  much  account.  So  they  sent  him  to  the 
haunted  cabin.  He  had  a  big  yellow  dog  with  him,  about 
as  ugly  and  as  savage  as  himself  ;  and  the  boys  sort  o'  con- 
gratulated themselves,  from  a  practical  view  point,  that, 
while  they  were  giving  the  old  ruffian  a  shelter,  they 
were  helping  in  the  cause  of  Christianity  against  ghosts 
and  goblins.  They  had  little  faith  in  the  old  man,  but 
went  their  whole  pile  on  that  dog.  That 's  where  they 
were  mistaken. 

"  The  house  stood  almost  three  hundred  feet  from  the 
nearest  cave,  and  on  dark  nights,  being  in  a  hollow,  was  as 
lonely  as  if  it  had  been  on  the  top  of  Shasta.  If  you  ever 
saw  the  spot  when  there  was  just  moon  enough  to  bring 
out  the  little  surrounding  clumps  of  chaparral  until  they 
looked  like  crouching  figure*,  and  make  the  bits  of  broken 
quartz  glisten  like  skulls,  you  'd  begin  to  understand  how 
big  a  contract  that  man  and  that  yellow  dog  undertook. 

"  They  went  into  possession  that  afternoon,  and  old  Hard 
Times  set  out  to  cook  his  supper.  When  it  was  over  he 
sat  down  by  the  embers  and  lit  his  pipe,  the  yellow  dog 
lying  at  his  feet.  Suddenly  '  Rap  !  rap  ! '  comes  from  the 
door.  '  Come  in,'  says  the  man  gruffly.  '  Kap !  '  again. 
'  Come  in  and  be  d — d  to  you,'  says  the  man,  who  had  no 
idea  of  getting  up  to  open  the  door.  But  no  one  responded, 
and  the  next  moment  smash  goes  the  only  sound  pane  in 
the  only  window.  Seeing  this,  old  Hard  Times  gets  up, 
with  the  devil  in  his  eye,  and  a  revolver  in  his  hand,  fol- 
lowed by  the  yellow  dog,  with  every  tooth  showing,  and 
swings  open  the  door.  No  one  there  !  But  as  the  man 
opened  the  door,  that  yellow  dog,  that  had  been  so  chipper 
before,  suddenly  begins  to  crouch  and  step  backward,  step 
by  step,  trembling  and  shivering,  and  at  last  crouches  down 
in  the  chimney,  without  even  so  much  as  looking  at  his 
master.  The  man  slams  the  door  shut  again,  but  there 
comes  another  smash.  This  time  it  seems  to  come  from 


43G  A    GHOST   OF   THE    SIERRAS 

inside  the  cabin,  and  it  is  n't  until  the  man  looks  around 
and  sees  everything  quiet  that  he  gets  up.  without  speaking, 
and  makes  a  dash  for  the  door,  and  tears  round  outside  the 
cabin  like  mad,  but  finds  nothing  but  silence  and  darkness. 
Then  he  comes  back  swearing  and  calls  the  dog.  But  that 
great  yellow  dog  that  the  boys  would  have  staked  all  their 
money  on  is  crouching  under  the  bunk,  and  has  to  be 
dragged  out  like  a  coon  from  a  hollow  tree,  and  lies  there, 
his  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets ;  every  limb  and  muscle 
quivering  with  fear,  and  his  very  hair  drawn  up  in  bristling 
ridges.  The  man  calls  him  to  the  door.  He  drags  him- 
self a  few  steps,  stops,  sniffs,  and  refuses  to  go  farther. 
The  man  calls  him  again,  with  an  oath  and  a  threat.  Then 
what  does  that  yellow  dog  do  ?  He  crawls  edgewise  to- 
wards the  door,  crouching  himself  against  the  bunk,  till  he  's 
flatter  than  a  knife  blade ;  then,  halfway,  he  stops.  Then 
that  d — cl  yellow  dog  begins  to  walk  gingerly,  —  lifting  each 
foot  up  in  the  air,  one  after  the  other,  still  trembling  in 
every  limb.  Then  he  stops  again.  Then  he  crouches 
Then  he  gives  one  little  shuddering  leap,  —  not  straight 
forward,  but  up,  —  clearing  the  floor  about  six  inches, 
as  if  "  — 

"  Over  something,"  interrupted  the  Judge  hastily,  lift- 
ing himself  on  his  elbow. 

The  Doctor  stopped  instantly.  "  Juan,"  he  said  coolly 
to  one  of  the  Mexican  packers,  "  quit  foolin'  Avith  that 
riata.  You  '11  have  that  stake  out  and  that  mule  loose  in 
another  minute.  Come  over  this  way  !  " 

The  Mexican  turned  a  scared,  white  face  to  the  Doctor, 
muttering  something,  and  let  go  the  deerskin  hide.  We 
all  upraised  our  voices  with  one  accord,  the  Judge  most 
penitently  and  apologetically,  and  implored  the  Doctor  to 
go  on.  "  I  '11  shoot  the  first  man  who  interrupts  you 
again,"  added  Thornton  persuasively. 

But  the  Doctor,  with  his  hands  languidly  under  his  head, 


A   GHOST   OF   THE   SIERRAS  437 

had  lost  his  interest.  "Well,  the  dog  ran  off  to  the 
hills,  and  neither  the  threats  nor  cajoleries  of  his  master 
could  ever  make  him  enter  the  cabin  again.  The  next 
da}'  the  man  left  the  camp.  What  time  is  it  ?  Getting 
on  to  sundown,  ain't  it?  Keep  off  my  leg,  will  you, 
you  d — d  Greaser,  and  stop  stumbling  round  there  !  Lie 
down  !  '• 

But  we  knew  that  the  Doctor  had  not  completely  finished 
his  story,  and  we  waited  patiently  for  the  conclusion. 
Meanwhile  the  old,  gray  silence  of  the  woods  again  asserted 
itself,  but  shadows  were  now  beginning  to  gather  in  the 
heavy  beams  of  the  roof  above,  and  the  dim  aisles  seemed 
to  be  narrowing  and  closing  in  around  us.  Presently  the 
Doctor  recommenced  lazily,  as  if  no  interruption  had 
occurred. 

"  As  I  said  before,  I  never  put  much  faith  in  that  story, 
and  should  n't  have  told  it,  but  for  a  rather  curious  experi- 
ence of  my  own.  It  was  in  the  spring  of  '62,  and  I  was 
one  of  a  party  of  four,  coming  up  from  O'Neill's,  where  we 
had  been  snowed  up.  It  was  awful  weather ;  the  snow  had 
changed  to  sleet  and  rain  after  we  crossed  the  divide,  and 
the  water  was  out  everywhere;  every  ditch  was  a  creek, 
every  creek  a  river.  We  had  lost  two  horses  on  the  North 
Fork,  we  were  dead  beat,  off  the  trail,  and  sloshing  round, 
with  night  coming  on,  and  the  level  hail  like  shot  in  our 
faces.  Things  were  looking  bleak  and  scary  when,  riding 
a  little  ahead  of  the  party,  I  saw  a  light  twinkling  in  a 
hollow  beyond.  My  horse  was  still  fresh,  and,  calling  out 
to  the  boys  to  follow  me  and  bear  for  the  light,  I  struck 
out  for  it.  In  another  moment  I  was  before  a  little  cabin 
that  half  burrowed  in  the  black  chaparral ;  I  dismounted 
and  rapped  at  the  door.  There  was  no  response.  I  then 
tried  to  force  the  door,  but  it  was  fastened  securely  from 
within.  I  was  all  the  more  surprised  when  one  of  the 
boys,  who  had  overtaken  me,  told  me  that  he  had  just  seen 


438  A   GHOST   OF   THE    SIERRAS 

through  a  window  a  man  reading  by  the  fire.  Indignant 
at  this  inhospitality,  we  both  made  a  resolute  onset  againsl 
the  door,  at  the  same  time  raising  our  angry  voices  to  a 
yell.  Suddenly  there  was  a  quick  response,  the  hurried 
withdrawing  of  a  bolt,  and  the  door  opened. 

"  The  occupant  was  a  short,  thick-set  man,  with  a  pale, 
careworn  face,  whose  prevailing  expression  was  one  of  gen- 
tle good-humor  and  patient  suffering.  When  we  entered, 
he  asked  us  hastily  why  we  had  not  '  sung  out '  before. 

"  '  But  we  knocked  !  '  I  said  impatiently,  '  and  almost 
drove  your  door  in.' 

"  '  That  's  nothing/  he  said  patiently.  '  I  'm  used  to 
that: 

"  I  looked  again  at  the  man's  patient,  fateful  face,  and 
then  around  the  cabin.  In  an  instant  the  whole  situa- 
tion flashed  before  me.  '  Are  we  not  near  Cave  City  ?  '  I 
asked. 

"  '  Yes,'  he  replied,  '  it 's  just  below.  You  must  have 
passed  it  in  the  storm.' 

"'I  see.'  I  again  looked  around  the  cabin.  'Isn't 
this  what  they  call  the  haunted  house  ?  ' 

"He  looked  at  me  curiously.      '  It  is;'  he  said  simply. 

"  You  can  imagine  my  delight !  Here  was  an  oppor- 
tunity to  test  the  whole  story,  to  work  down  to  the  bed- 
rock, and  see  how  it  would  pan  out !  We  were  too  many 
and  too  well  armed  to  fear  tricks  or  dangers  from  outsiders. 
If  —  as  one  theory  had  been  held  —  the  disturbance  was 
kept  up  by  a  band  of  concealed  marauders  or  road  agents, 
whose  purpose  was  to  preserve  their  haunts  from  intrusion, 
we  were  quite  able  to  pay  them  back  in  kind  for  any 
assault.  I  need  not  say  that  the  boys  were  delighted  with 
this  prospect  when  the  fact  was  revealed  to  them.  The  only 
one  doubtful  and  apathetic  spirit  there  was  our  host,  who 
quietly  resumed  his  seat  and  his  book,  with  his  old  expres- 
sion of  patient  martyrdom.  It  would  have  been  easy  foi 


A   GHOST   OF   THE   SIERRAS  43b 

me  to  have  drawn  him  out,  but  I  felt  that  I  did  not  want 
to  corroborate  anybody  else's  experience  ;  only  to  record  my 
own.  And  I  thought  it  better  to  keep  the  boys  from  any 
predisposing  terrors. 

"  We  ate  our  supper,  and  then  sat,  patiently  and  expec- 
tant, around  the  fire.  An  hour  slipped  away,  but  no  dis- 
turbance ;  another  hour  passed  as  monotonously.  Our  host 
read  his  book  ;  only  the  dash  of  hail  against  the  roof  fr-oke 
the  silence.  But  "  — 

The  Doctor  stopped.  Since  the  last  interruption,  I 
noticed  he  had  changed  the  easy  slangy  style  of  his  story 
to  a  more  perfect,  artistic,  and  even  studied  manner.  He 
dropped  now  suddenly  into  his  old  colloquial  speech,  and 
quietly  said,  "  If  you  don't  quit  stumbling  over  those  riatas, 
Juan,  I  '11  hobble  you.  Come  here ;  there,  lie  down,  will 
you  ?  " 

We  all  turned  fiercely  on  the  cause  of  this  second 
dangerous  interruption,  but  a  sight  of  the  poor  fellow's 
pale  and  frightened  face  withheld  our  vindictive  tongues. 
And  the  Doctor,  happily,  of  hi*  own  accord,  went  on  :  — 

"  But  I  had  forgotten  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  keep 
these  high-spirited  boys,  bent  on  a  row,  in  decent  subjec- 
tion ;  and  after  the  third  hour  passed  without  a  supernatural 
exhibition,  I  observed,  from  certain  winks  and  whispers, 
that  they  were  determined  to  get  up  indications  of  their 
own.  In  a  few  moments  violent  rappings  were  heard  from 
all  parts  of  the  cabin ;  large  stones  (adroitly  thrown  up  the 
chimney)  fell  with  a  heavy  thud  on  the  roof.  Strange  groans 
and  ominous  yells  seemed  to  come  from  the  outside  (where 
the  interstices  between  the  logs  were  wide  enough).  Yet, 
through  all  this  uproar,  our  host  sat  still  and  patient,  with 
no  sign  of  indignation  or  reproach  upon  his  good-humored 
but  haggard  features.  Before  long  it  became  evident  that 
this  exhibition  was  exclusively  for  his  benefit.  Under  the 
thin  disguise  of  asking  him  tc  assist  them  in  discovering 


440  A   GHOST   OF   THE    SIERBAS 

the  disturbers  outside  the  cabin,  those  inside  took  advantage 
of  his  absence  to  turn  the  cabin  topsy-turvy. 

"  '  You  see  what  the  spirits  have  done,  old  man,'  said 
the  arch  leader  of  this  mischief.  '  They  've  upset  that 
there  flour  barrel  while  we  was  n't  looking,  and  then  kicked 
over  the  water-jug  arid  spilled  all  the  water  ! ' 

"  The  patient  man  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  the 
flour-strewn  walls.  Then  he  glanced  down  at  the  floor,  but 
drew  back  with  a  slight  tremor. 

"  '  It  ain't  water  !  '  he  said  quietly. 

"  '  What  is  it,  then  ?  ' 

"  '  It 's  BLOOD  !     Look  ! ' 

"  The  nearest  mail  gave  a  sudden  start  and  sank  back 
white  as  a  sheet. 

"  For  there,  gentlemen,  on  the  floor,  just  before  the  door, 
where  the  old  man  had  seen  the  dog  hesitate  and  lift  his 
feet,  there  !  there  !  —  gentlemen  —  upon  my  honor,  slowly 
widened  and  broadened  a  dark  red  pool  of  human  blood  ! 
Stop  him  !  Quick  !  Stop  him,  I  say  !  " 

There  was  a  blinding  flash  that  lit  up  the  dark  woods, 
and  a  sharp  report !  When  we  reached  the  Doctor's  side 
he  was  holding  the  smoking  pistol,  just  discharged,  in  one 
band,  while  with  the  other  he  was  pointing  to  the  rapidly 
disappearing  figure  of  Juan,  our  Mexican  vaquero ! 

"  Missed  him  !  by  G— d  !  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  But  did 
you  hear  him  ?  Did  you  see  his  livid  face  as  he  rose  up 
at  the  name  of  blood  ?  Did  you  see  his  guilty  conscience 
in  his  face  ?  Eh  ?  Why  don't  you  speak  ?  What  are  you 
staring  at  ?  " 

"  Was  it  the  murdered  man's  ghost,  Doctor  ?  "  we  all 
panted  in  one  quick  breath. 

"  Ghost  be  d — d  !  No  !  But  in  that  Mexican  vaquero 
• —  that  cursed  Juan  Ramirez  !  —  I  saw  and  shot  at  his 
murderer  !  " 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


APR  19 1948 
3     195tt 

-  1  6  1952 

EB  2  0  1953 

••- 

B  4  1955 
APR  12  1368 


A    MAR    f 

ftlAR^O 


;J9-25yn-9,'47(A5618)444 


